What Time Forgot
by Julia Caesaris
Summary: When she was seven, Amelia Pond found her imaginary friend. Twelve years and four psychiatrists later, he came back - but her mad man with a blue box has no clue who she is. And the longer she gets to know him, the more she comes to realize: The damage is not all physical, and the mysteries only hide more mysteries. A/U of Series 5 with Ten instead of Eleven.
1. Hour Past Ten, I

**A/N: Well, here goes. At this point, I'm just going to have to tell you that I **_**do**_** have a plan, and that you'll need to trust me for a bit.**

**Beta'd by Paul and Audrey. Special thanks to Paul, who told me that this chapter wasn't working and made me rewrite it.**

**Updating every Saturday morning until further notice.**

* * *

"Last night," Rory began, with all the appropriate solemnity required, dirty blond hair almost in his eyes. "In my back garden –"

"You're not _doing_ it right!" Amelia interrupted, cutting him off. "An' it was my _front_ garden anyway."

Rory frowned mulishly. "Well, if he _did_ come to me, why would he land in my front garden? It's got _weeds_. The back one's much prettier, honest."

"'sides," Macha piped in, "they might get suspicious if your stories sound the same."

Amelia rounded on her. "An' why won't _you_ do it?"

Macha gave her an utterly unbelievable innocent face. "They wouldn't believe me," she said sweetly. She was the only one of the trio to have an upper class accent – Rory's was firmly lodged in the Midlands, and Amelia had clung onto her Scottish one for years – not that any of the three cared.

"Fine." Amelia pouted for a bare second before returning her attention to Rory. "Again. Start at the beginning."

Rory wrinkled his nose, but obeyed. "Last night, in my back – which one is it, anyway?"

Macha shook her head, flopping back to lie flat on the floor. "Does it matter?"

"Of _couse_ it matters!" Amelia stood up, making gestures with both arms that were meant to look impressive. At eight, they were rather less than. "We have to keep our stories straight." She sounded like she was reading off a card. "Otherwise they won't believe us."

Macha grunted. "They won't believe you anyway. He won't have any proof, and they already think you're making things up."

Amelia bristled. "But I'll have _support_."

"They're _adults_," Macha pointed out. "They don't care if we have support or not. We're children."

Rory nodded solemnly.

Amelia glowered darkly at Macha. "What do _you_ suggest then?"

"I don't think you should talk about it." Macha looked down, away from Amelia. "Let the adults forget."

Plopping down on the floor, Amelia grunted. "He _is real_."

Macha rolled her eyes, flipping curly black hair out of her face. Adopted and black, she would have been the talk of Leadworth by those alone, but she was far more notorious for being a kleptomaniac and getting in trouble with all her teachers. "I _know_. But your aunt'll just send you to more shrinks if you keep talking about him."

"Haven't been to one in a month," Amelia muttered.

"Only 'cause you _bit_ the last three!" Macha shouted, sitting up. "Look, Amelia, they're going to put you away if you keep talking about it."

Amelia pouted. "That only happens in _stories_."

Rory looked seriously at Amelia. "Men in blue boxes who eat bananas in your kitchen only happens in _stories_. Doesn't mean it can't happen to you too."

"So jus' talk to you then?" Amelia asked, looking at the other two. For the first time, she sounded scared.

Macha nodded decisively. "You're safest that way."

Rory looked hopefully at Amelia. "But you can _always_ talk to us. I _like_ your stories."

Beginning to smile, Amelia stood and reached for a battered cardboard box. "So what're we playing?"

* * *

"What did she say about him?" The man looked down at the girl.

The girl fidgeted. "_Father,_ she's just telling stories again."

"This is important. What did she say about him?"

"Tall, skinny, sticky uppy hair, suit with stripes on it," she rattled off. "Brown suit, blue stripes. She said he had blood on one cheek."

"Good start, but that's just his appearance. What did she say _about_ him?"

"She – she liked him. Said he was… charming. Like a movie star. But sad. Or – she didn't put it this way, but how she _talked_ about him, it was like he _could_ be charming, but now he was sad."

"And?"

"Look, what do _you _care? He's _imaginary_, even _I_ can see that. And if Rory and Amelia cannot, then that's their problem."

"You are more intelligent than other children your age, but that doesn't make you more intelligent than _me_," the man said, smirking. "I have my reasons. What else?"

"He didn't want to stay. He didn't want to help her. But she asked him to, and he did."

"Same as always then. What else?"

"He liked bananas."

"I'm thrilled to hear it," he told her dryly.

The girl wrinkled her nose. "He knew about the crack and said he couldn't help her now but said he'd be back in five minutes. Amelia's very upset about that."

"More than likely, he forgot. Always was his style."

"But he's _imaginary_. Just another of Amelia's stupid stories."

"He's not," the man said with a hint of a smile. "He's as real as you or I."

"How can he be? He fell out of the sky in a _box_."

"And? I've certainly done worse." The man's lips twisted, as if he was thinking of what _worse_ he had done.

"Like what?"

"They're not suitable for your ears."

"You say that a lot."

"It covers a lot of my past."

"You told me you spent a lot of time down south."

"In _Wales_," the man told her disparagingly.

"You said London last time."

"It was a lot of time."

"And what's it about Wales that's so bad?"

He smirked. "I'll tell you when you're older."

"How _much_ older?"

"When you're an adult."

"Father, that's _ages_ away."

"Precisely. Now, what else about the skinny man who fell out of the sky?"

"He called his box a TARDIS." She pronounced the word correctly.

"And?" The man looked bored, inspecting his fingernails.

"Not _his_ TARDIS. Amelia was clear on that. He said he stole it."

"If there is anything you want to tell me that I _don't_ already know, do it now."

"I thought you'd be interested in that."

"And I would be, if I didn't already know that he'd stolen that particular TARDIS."

"You seem to know a lot about him."

"I should. We spent a while together, once." He sobered, returning his full attention to the girl.

"And?"

"Macha, stop dancing around the subject," he snapped. "What else did she say about him?"

"He said he'd be her friend."

There was a long pause. "We're leaving. Pack your bags, we move out tomorrow. Tonight, if we can."

"_Father!_" the girl exclaimed.

"It's not safe here, not if he's coming _back_."

"You already knew he said he'd come back!"

"I knew he'd said it, I did not know he _meant_ it. He cares for his friends. If he told her he would return, then one day, he will do so." There was something dark and bitter in the man's eyes.

"But not today!"

"No, but _someday_. The sooner we leave, the more time our trail has to grow cold."

"Why are you afraid of him?"

"I am not _afraid_. The last time we met, some words were said. I'm not ready to confront him again."

"Does he know you're here?"

There was another pause. "You are far too clever for your own good," the man said finally.

"Father, does he?"

"No. He does not. With luck, he never will. You have a point though."

"So we can stay?"

"Yes. Only until he returns, though. No longer."

"Thank you!" The girl hugged him, head coming up to his chest.

"You are very welcome," the man told her head, looking slightly uncomfortable. "I want you to settle though. Stop getting in trouble with your teachers."

"But they're _stupid_," she said disparagingly.

"I know, but if we are to avoid his notice, we must be normal."

"Fine."

"Good girl."

The girl pulled away slightly. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Can I stop you?"

"_Father_."

"Go ahead," he said, smiling.

"What's his name? The man, in the box. What's he called?"

"He didn't tell her?" Surprise was writ over his face. "He's always very proud of it. He's called the Doctor."

"Oh." The girl looked down. "He told Amelia his name's John Smith, but I didn't believe her because that's just a fake name, everyone knows that."

"It's the name he likes to use, when he's pretending to be undercover. I'm surprised, however, that he felt the need to use it here."

"Why do you think he did it?"

"It's probably some new form of self-flagellation."

"What?" She returned her eyes to him, confused.

"When you're older. Now. Have you had tea yet?"


	2. Hour Past Ten, II

**A/N: Wheeeee… I swear I have a plan.**

**Thanks to Paul and Audrey, who made sure that the Doctor wasn't randomly falling asleep. Thanks also to: Kudo Shinichi Tanteisan, HelenaHermione, Jimbobob5536, Ashlee Pond, FlyingLovegood123, Lyra the Heretic, Hellosweetie4737, Mango Supreme, Ponteofdance.**

**Note that I don't give away plot points before hand, and me being a troll in your response just means that I've gotten the question one too many times, and has nothing to do with how accurate your guesses are.**

* * *

By the age of nineteen, Amy Pond had grown up from the girl upset because adults wouldn't believe her.

The intervening years had not been kind, in many ways. Aunt Sharon had passed away, when she was seventeen. She had been hit by a drunk driver. Amy inherited everything, which wasn't much, and looked for a job. Supporting herself was the first priority, followed by being able to stay in school. Anything else came after.

She became a Kiss-o-Gram. It paid well, and the hours were flexible enough that she was able to stay in school and go after her A-levels. It didn't bother her – much – that she was another form of a prostitute. Among other things, Aunt Sharon had had advanced ideas regarding women's lib.

So that was her life – kiss people with money, and prepare to take a series of painfully difficult tests. She'd taken them with the rest of her class, and her scores, although good, were not exceptional. Her teachers were fond of pointing out that she needed to spend more time studying and less partying.

She never told them that she didn't go to parties.

With her A-levels in the bag, she remained as a Kiss-o-Gram while she saved enough money for uni. That was the plan, at least – Amy was big on plans – until Rory showed up.

He hadn't had her problems, and had easily gotten into a uni with a decent med programme. Which was _fine_, and she didn't begrudge him that at all, but then he came back for the summers and temped in the Leadworth hospital.

And that was a problem.

Because Amy wanted to go into psychology – because of the four counsellors who had helped save her life – and that meant that she got a second job for the summer at the hospital, helping them with their books, because to everyone's surprise, she was passably good at maths.

And while she wasn't paying attention, Rory had grown up, and although he'd never quite grown into the nose, the rest of him was… not bad. They'd dated, before Aunt Sharon died, but then Aunt Sharon _had_ died, and Amy had given him up, like so much else in her life, to try desperately to stay in school.

Now they were working in close proximity. This made her uncomfortable, because she had never quite moved on from those two years, and apparently neither had Rory. And she didn't have the _time_ for a boyfriend.

Not to mention her evening job.

All in all, Amy's life was decidedly more complicated than she was really comfortable with when she came home from a birthday party one day to discover a strange man running around in her house, calling a name she hadn't used for _years_.

* * *

"No," the Doctor said firmly. "We are _not_ landing, we are _not_ landing on Earth, and we are _definitely_ not landing on Earth in the 21st century. I've just _been_ there, and I don't want to go back."

The TARDIS grumbled, and landed with a firm thud.

The Doctor stuck his tongue out at the console, but walked outside anyway. The TARDIS knew all of his uncomfortable spots, and would use all of them if she'd decided to make him go outside.

Which apparently she had.

Which he didn't like.

Because the _last_ time he'd left his TARDIS, he'd screwed up, and people had _died_, and there had been that whole mess with the Time Lords, and anyway, he wasn't going to do it again.

He also wasn't sulking.

Definitely not.

Donna would have torn a verbal strip off his back for acting the way he was, but then again, Donna was effectively dead, and that was his fault too, and when would he ever learn that interfering was a bad idea?

_*She needed us. A life with us that she can't remember is better than never having one at all.*_

_Is it?_

Apparently not today, because he was standing in someone's garden, with a lot of slightly overgrown plants, but most importantly with a little red bucket that said 'Amelia Pond' in faded blue letters left, probably forgotten, in a dying shrub, and somewhere on this planet there was another alien, this one decidedly unfriendly, and his TARDIS had decided that he was going to save the Earth again.

Drat.

He half walked, half ran across the garden, looking for the owner of the red bucket – who, judging by the shade of the letters, was probably about fifteen by now – because she was going to have to deal with an alien _something_, he didn't know what yet, and he had to warn her before she died too.

"Amelia Pond!"

The house was silent. Silent – and _large_, he realized, larger by far than the solitary bucket indicated. Too large for a young woman still living with her parents.

Shaking – from anxiety, he told himself, and not from exhaustion and the bone-deep _fear_ that he would mess this up again – he pulled out his screwdriver and pointed it at the door. It whirred and the lock clicked open.

He stared at his screwdriver, surrounded by silence. It was old, and tired, and he suspected he had abused it too much for it to work much longer. It had sputtered when he opened the door. Probably because the last time he had used it –

He cut that thought off, and entered the house instead.

The Doctor looked around, frowning. He had been right – the house _was_ too large. There was one pair of wellies sitting by the front door. One rain jacket hanging on its hook. Further in, there was a calendar pinned to the wall, a calendar on which someone was making Xs, marking time until a day – Curious, he flipped through the calendar, setting his screwdriver on the table. Oh. Until the resident left for university, at the end of the summer.

One plate on the table, but three chairs. One was much more worn than the other two.

_lonelylonelylonelylonelylonelylonelylonelylonelylo nelylonelylonelylonelylonelylonelylonelylonelylone lylonelylonelylonelylonelylonely_

"Amelia Pond!" he called again, and then repeated it a few more times.

There was something odd here, something _wrong_, and he had to find out what it was before the alien-whatsit destroyed the Earth. Or maybe the universe. The TARDIS hadn't been clear.

Running up the stairs, he panted, his right leg trembling with each step. Anxiety – not exhaustion. "Ah-Amelia! Amelia Pond!"

_*You need to sleep at some point, you know. Even our body has its limits.*_

_PISS OFF._

_*You know I'm rrright. You haven't slept since –*_

_Don't talk about it!_

_*Fine then, I won't. But you must sleep _sometime_. Goodness, no _wonder_ our TARDIS spat you out. You're becoming quite unbearrrrable.*_

At the first landing he frowned. Still something off, and he couldn't quite put his finger on it. Shaking his head, he crossed the hallway, turning at a blank wall to go up the next set of stairs. He paused again because of a sound from behind.

There was a rush of wind, and a flare of pain, and then he collapsed to the floor.

* * *

"White male, mid-twenties, breaking and entering. Send me some backup, I've got him restrained."

White – well, by the definitions of the time, yes, assuming he was still on 21st century Earth, which wasn't at _all_ guaranteed, given how many people wanted him and how many of them were capable of time travel.

Male – yes.

Mid-twenties – definitely _not!_

Breaking and entering – well, he had entered the house, but he hadn't broken anything, unless the speaker was counting his screwdriver, which he really hoped she didn't know about, or maybe his head.

His head.

Ow.

This incarnation wasn't very good with pain. _Blazes_ that hurt. A howling throbbing blinding pain coming from the … left back of his skull, which felt like someone had hammered on it with – well, a hammer. Or maybe a cricket bat.

He'd had a regeneration fond of cricket, hadn't he?

And he was rambling, if mentally, and he really did mean to stop that and probably a good time to stop would be now –

The Doctor blinked fuzzily.

There was a woman in front of him – a _ginger_, which really wasn't fair, why did she have to be ginger? – a cranky woman wearing a police uniform.

Delightful. He'd been on Earth for five minutes before being arrested. Some days he really had the worst luck.

"Oi," she said when he moved slightly. "You. Sit still."

The Doctor cleared his throat. Oh yeah, definitely a cricket bat. Who had taught him to identify those? Turlough, must have been. "Cricket bat," he told her.

_*I liked cricket, as I recall. The rest of you never got the hang of it.*_

The woman frowned at him. "You were breaking and entering." Her accent was Scottish, but slightly faded.

He blinked again, and then lunged upright because somewhere very close to here – wherever _here_ was – there was an alien bent on destroying the human race and it was his responsibility to stop it.

His wrist rather painfully hit the end of a chain and he jerked to a halt, halfway upright. "Oh," he said softly. "Handcuffs. Manacles. No – handcuffs. And a – a radiator. How very unconventional."

"Do you want to shut up now?" she snapped. "I've got backup on the way."

And suddenly things made a lot more sense. "You're from the _police_." He grinned. "Should have seen it. I mean, you're wearing the uniform, but –"

"You're breaking and entering," she repeated. "Do you see how this works?"

Maybe… He wasn't certain. He hadn't been _properly _arrested for a while now, he could have some of the procedure mixed up. Normally when he got handcuffs put on, it was because the alien of the week had figured out where he was. Not because of the human police.

_*You know, there was that one time –*_

_*Don' lord it over the rest of us just 'cause you met him five times in a row. Some of us never met him at all.*_

"What are you doing here?" Had someone called the phone? The same someone, presumably, who had smacked him with a cricket bat. "Where's Amelia Pond?" The important question, actually. Someone trying to arrest him could be dealt with later, there was a human to save and he was the only one who could do it.

The cranky woman looked even more confused – and worried. "Amelia Pond?"

He was pretty sure he'd read the bucket right. "Yeah. Amelia Pond. Where is she? I've got to save her. Has something happened to her?"

"Amelia Pond hasn't lived here in a long time," the woman said, Scottish accent stronger now.

Scotland? He was pretty sure he was supposed to land in England – the Midlands, actually – not Scotland, but that was something he could take care of later because he was currently handcuffed to a radiator and that was Not Good. "How long?" There was a bucket in the front garden, a child's bucket, she had to still live here, that was a child's toy and no sentimental keepsake.

"Six months," the woman said, and that rubbed the Doctor the wrong way. Because if Amelia had been dead or missing for six months, her grieving mother would have found the bucket and stored it somewhere, it was summer so she couldn't be at school, a grandparent with that sort of bucket wouldn't leave the household with _no other impressions _of a clearly-favoured grandchild, so no, Amelia Pond was still in this house.

But why lie?

"No," the Doctor told her scornfully. "She's still here, or she's very recently left. I saw her bucket."

The woman paled and turned away, pulling out her radio again. "Sarge, it's me again. This man knows something about Amelia Pond."

The Doctor jerked against the handcuffs. "No! What happened to Amelia Pond?" He had to help her, he was supposed to help her, that was the whole _reason_ the TARDIS had brought him here, to this house, and if someone or something had kidnapped her before his arrival, then he would tear this island apart to find her.

And also there was a door on this floor that couldn't possibly be a door because otherwise he would be able to look at it, so there was something wrong there, something wrong, something dangerous – why put a perception filter in an otherwise normal house if there weren't something dangerous behind it?

The woman didn't answer, but that didn't matter, because that door was _wrong_ and now he had a new priority. "I need to speak to whoever lives in this house _now_."

"_I_ live here," the woman said, to the Doctor's unending surprise.

The Doctor blinked. "But you're the _police_." There were certain _things_ the police did: they arrested people, usually him, they got in the way, and occasionally they kept people from getting killed. They did _not_ live in houses that were supposed to be inhabited by adolescent girls.

_*The Brigadier lives in a house.*_

_*He's hardly the police though. Even _your_ infantile mind should be able to conceive that.*_

The woman was clearly not impressed with his logic. "Yes, and this is where I live. You got a problem with that?"

No, not really, only that her accent got stronger when annoyed, which was mildly amusing, and he hadn't had a Scottish companion in – _ooh_, a _very_ long time, not since Jamie, he thought, which meant he was probably due – and he was _not_ dragging anyone else along to get killed!

_*Jamie didn't die.*_

_He might as well have._

And the not!door was still there. "How many doors are on this floor?"

"Five," she said quickly. "Two bedrooms, an office, and the loo."

He shook his head. "Six. There are six rooms on this floor, and there's an – a very unpleasant thing in the sixth, and I – I'm from the government and I'm trying to save your life!" As far as lies go, it really wasn't one of his better ones. But it had to work, it _had _to, because most of it was actually the truth.

She rolled her eyes. "This is _my_ house, I think I would know if I had six rooms on this floor. But I don't. So there aren't."

"It's behind you," the Doctor said, running out of patience and time.

Still visibly miffed, the woman turned to prove it – and froze, staring at the door on the other end of the hall.

The Doctor tried – and failed – not to grin.

"That is," she started, and then stopped for a second, shaking her head. "That is not – not possible."

Still grinning, the Doctor nodded. "There's a perception filter on the door. Well, actually, the whole area around the door. Honestly, I'm surprised you were able to notice the stairs."

The woman trembled slightly. "But that's a whole room. That's a whole room I've never even noticed."

The Doctor raised an eyebrow. "Obviously. That's the _point_ of a perception filter. But the point is, there's someone in there – something, more like, and anyway, you should really probably uncuff me if you don't want to _die_!"

Of _course_ the woman ignored him. Of _course_ she walked toward the door. Of _course_ she ignored his increasingly frantic shouts. Of _course _the door was unlocked.

He _hated_ it when the universe conspired against him.

Twisting, he fumbled in his pockets. Screwdriver, screwdriver, he'd just used it to get in the door – oh. He'd left it downstairs on the table. "Look, whoever you are, I've – lord, I've got a, well, it's a skinny grey rod that glows blue on the end, I left it downstairs on your kitchen table, if you could just go get it – or uncuffing me would work too – then I can use it against whatever's in that room, it's not technically a weapon, but if it'll save the Earth, I'm fine with it –"

"On the kitchen table?" the woman said, from inside the room. "I don't think it's there anymore."

The Doctor _really_ wanted to swear, but that wasn't something polite Time Lords _did_ around humans. "Blimy, look, just get _out of there_!" he yelled, throwing himself against the chain again.

_*We haven't been a 'polite Time Lord' in _ages_.*_

_*Ah, I'm – I'm afraid that may be my fault.*_

There was silence from the room.

"Get _out_, get the _hell_ out of that room before you _die_, I am_ not_ letting another human die on _my _watch!"

"There's nothing here," she said.

What was or wasn't in the room didn't really matter, because it was going to be deadly, and if it was deadly and had a perception filter, it wasn't going to like being seen – "Don't look at it! If you don't look at it, it thinks you don't know it's there, so get out of that _room_!"

There was a pause followed by a loud roar. "Bugger it!" the woman shrieked.

"You looked," the Doctor said dryly.

The woman ran out, sonic screwdriver in her hand and tossed it to him.

"Thank _you!_" Starting to grin, despite the pain in his head, the Doctor waved the screwdriver first at the door, locking it, and then at his handcuffs. It sputtered and fizzled, before going out entirely, leaving him still trapped. "No. No, no, _no._"

Standing between him and the door, the woman looked down at him. "Will that stop it?"

He rolled his eyes again, fiddling absently with his screwdriver. "_No_. A wooden door? Stop that? I'd be surprised if the Bank of England could."

"Is that - what's it doing?" the woman said, sounding panicked.

It really didn't matter_ what_ the as-yet-unnamed alien was doing, because he was still _handcuffed to a radiator_ and his sonic screwdriver had just gone out. "How should I know? Look, just get out of here. Run. Your backup's coming, I'll be fine." Or dead, but at least she wouldn't be and that was the important bit.

She huffed. "There is no _backup_."

Well, that was interesting, but that really also didn't matter because she was still _in the house_ with the really nasty alien and she had to go _now_. "Run! It's really not a complicated concept – no, wait, I heard you on the radio."

"I was _pretending_," she snapped, completely ignoring the door. "It's a pretend radio."

Maybe he should blame his head, but this _really_ wasn't making any sense at all. "You're a _policewoman_."

"I'm a Kiss-o-Gram!" she yelled, pulling her hat off, letting her hair fall out.


	3. Hour Past Ten, III

**A/N: YET AGAIN – if I have not explained something, it is because **_**I have a plan**_**. If you leave an anonymous review, I can't reply. I'll just sit here and glare at your review and then go eat chocolate.**

**Thanks to Audrey and Paul, who reminded me that Amy should be 19 and not 7 the whole time, and not just when it was convenient. And thanks to my reviewers: Dragoneisha, notwritten, FlyingLovegood123, and Jimbobob5536. **

* * *

The Doctor noted that it really was Not Okay for people he ran into to have ginger hair, and moved on.

The whatever-it-was knocked down the door, and stood there, looking oddly like a construction worker with a Rottweiler. Right. Perception filters again.

"But it's just –"

The Doctor heartily resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "No, it isn't. Perception filter. You couldn't see the door because it didn't want you to, now you can't see what it really looks like. Also look at the faces because it mucked something up."

Which was why the Doctor didn't use perception filters a lot because it was easy to create a complicated _visual _illusion and then forget that humans weren't supposed to growl.

_*Oh, I do _love_ the stupid ones!*_

_*They're all stupid, compared to us.*_

_*Yes, but some of us don't have quite _your_ particular capacity for pretension.*_

The woman, somewhat predictably, did not take this well. "What. I'm sorry, but _what_?"

"Perception filter, I _told_ you. Doesn't anyone ever listen when I talk?" Well, no, probably not, for some reason, but they always seemed to have something better to do. "Anyway, you!" he shouted at the alien who was almost certainly a – "Multiform! A bit of a rush job – messed up the vocal cords a bit, still, not the important thing, that's the pattern…" He trailed off, mind putting it together. "_Oh_, you'd need a psychic link, not the dog, it's simple enough to copy, but the man – how'd you do that?"

The multiform snarled at him, stepping forward. Still growling, it opened its mouth wider than the body should allow to reveal long, needle-like teeth.

The woman, due credit to her, jumped but didn't scream.

"Stay back!" the Doctor yelled, hitting the end of his handcuffs _again_. He was going to have a bruise when this was over.

The multiform gave no indication of staying back.

He _hated_ these sorts of things. "Alright, okay okay okay, got to delay, ah – we're armed! Or she is, at any rate."

"Am not," the woman said. "The gun's fake too"

The Doctor made a face, not taking his eyes off the multiform. "I lied," he told her blithely. "Which would have _worked_ if you hadn't spoken."

"Attention Prisoner Zero," a voice said from outside, which was really a good thing, because the human looked like she wanted to kill him. "The human residence is surrounded. Attention Prisoner Zero. The human residence is surrounded."

The human looked at him. "What's that?"

The Doctor did his very best to shrug. "His captors? How should I know?"

The multiform was motionless, the only thing moving its heads, which twitched back and forth with every announcement from what sounded like an interstellar loudspeaker.

"Prisoner Zero will vacate the human residence or the human residence will be incinerated."

As the announcer – recording, more likely – began to repeat its message, the multiform left the hallway, heading into a room. It was probably looking for the source. The Doctor would rather like to know too.

With the departure of the multiform, the woman bent down, keys in her hand. "I'm only doing this 'cause I don't want you to die, alright?" A quick snap of her wrist and the cuff fell away from his hand.

"Great. Run!" The Doctor lunged upright, grabbing her hand and making a dash for the stairs.

Dragging her outside, the Doctor shut the door in the vague hopes that it would do some good. "Kiss-o-Gram?" he asked, tucking his completely useless screwdriver into a jacket pocket.

The woman gave him a look that said she was _really_ done with him messing around. "Yes. A Kiss-o-Gram. What's going on?"

"You said you were a policewoman." There might have been _something_ in the back of his brain that equipped him to deal with this, but whatever it was, the _cricket bat_ had taken care of it.

"You _broke_ into my house," she shouted as he began to run down the path. "It was this or a French maid."

There were some days, the Doctor thought, that he just didn't understand humans.

Still, she was running after him, so maybe there was still some hope for her. Except he was _not_ going to take another companion, so all of this was pointless. "What's going on? Tell me!"

And there she was, his TARDIS, sitting there, very blue and very… locked. He twisted his key. Why was she locked? That was Not Okay. Really, really Not – the woman had asked a question, hadn't she? "There's – there's an alien living in your spare room, disguised as a man and his dog, and his guards are about to blow up your house. Any questions?"

"Yes!"

"Me too," he told her, putting his key in and out of the lock repeatedly. It had no success. "No! No, no, no, no, _no!_" _Why_ was she locked? Alright, maybe his druthers at this point were to run and give up on the world saving business, but that was still no reason to be _locked_!

_*You, sir, are a _prat_.*_

_*Quite right. Go save the world, then worry about our TARDIS. She'll be just fine while you chase after the aliens.*_

_*Or not chase, as the case may be. Up to you, I'm afraid.*_

"Prisoner Zero will vacate the human residence or the human residence will be incinerated."

The woman, who seemed to have calmed and acquired a better grasp on things, grabbed his hand. "Come on!"

He let himself be dragged for a few steps and then pulled away, running for the bucket. "No, no, come here, look at this. This bucket. I know that design, why do I know that design…" He rapped it on his head once and then straightened, grinning. "Aha! This bucket was made in 1992, there was a small Auton problem, nothing to worry about, but if the bucket was made in '92, and it's been out here, then the girl who played with it would be about… I don't know, seventeen? Twenty? So either much longer than six months or much, much shorter. Why did you say six months?"

_*That was me!*_

_*We know.*_

Throughout all this, the woman was paling, shaking her head. "He's coming," she said quietly. "We've got to go."

The Doctor stepped forward, grabbing her wrist as she moved to turn away. "No, this is _important_. Why did you say six months?"

"Why did you say five minutes?" she finally yelled, glaring at him.

"What?" he said blankly, confused more than he had been since the TARDIS landed.

She dragged at his arm, movements frantic. "Come on!"

No, he wasn't going to move, not until he got an answer as to what was going on with Amelia Pond. "What?"

"_Come on_," she yelled, yanking on his arm and taking off.

He let himself be dragged along, very confused and also more worried than ever. "_What_."

"Prisoner Zero will vacate the human residence or the human residence will be incinerated."

The multiform barked at them as they ran out of the yard.

* * *

He got enough of his brain working to remember that saving the world was slightly more important than one girl-who-wasn't-actually-little-but-still-had-a-bu cket-in-her-garden, leading the way up the hill. And then it hit him, and he felt like more of an idiot than ever. "_You're_ Amelia." He stopped and spun to face the woman, waving his hands.

"You're late," she told him, continuing to walk.

Which didn't make any sense at all, but that's something that could be dealt with later, because _this_ was the human his TARDIS was worked up about. "You're – the bucket! The bucket's yours!"

She passed him, looking even more upset than before. "I'm Amelia, and you're late."

"How am I _late_?" He began walking to keep up with her, brain turning over this newest puzzle.

She made a noise that might have been a snarl. "Twelve years."

And perhaps more to the point – "You hit me with a cricket bat!"

"Twelve _years_," she snapped again, walking ever faster.

"A cricket bat," he repeated, with a wave of his hands. And the lump on his head still hurt. She was lucky he was a Time Lord, some part of his brain pointed out, else that might have killed him.

_*I got killed by a bump on the head.*_

_*Really very pedantic of you, dear chap, why ever did you let it happen?*_

_*You're one to talk, killed by a giant spider.*_

She stopped and faced him for just a second. "Twelve years and _four_ psychiatrists."

He came to a dead halt, blinking. "_Why_?"

She misunderstood the question. "I kept biting them," she said after a pause.

"No, no, no," he began, frowning. He didn't want to know why _four _psychiatrists, he wanted to know why _any_.

"Prisoner Zero will vacate the human residence or the human residence will be incinerated."

It was coming from an ice cream truck. How _dreadfully_ anticlimactic. He made a face, stalking towards it.

"No, no, no. Come on. _What_?" Amelia said, seeming just as let-down. Or maybe she was upset. He was never much good with human emotions. "We're being staked out. By an ice cream van."

He almost smiled. Apparently she _did _have a sense of humour. "Come on," he said, and dashed for the van. Once there, he leaned inside. "What's that? Who's hijacked your stuff?"

The man looked at him blankly. "It was supposed to be _Clare de Lune_."

The Doctor unplugged the radio in the hopes that the message would stop. It didn't. Except that it wasn't the only thing giving off the message… He could have hit himself, except that wouldn't help anything. He _had_ to get to something else, something – a television. Dashing off towards the nearest house, he ignored Amelia.

"Hello!" he said, running into someone's sitting room. "Sorry to burst in, we're, ah, doing a special on – oh, television faults."

The TV was on and displaying a large blue eye. He _recognized _it, why did he recognize it? Problem for later.

_*I had blue eyes.*_

_*A number of us did. It doesn't _mean_ anything. At least, I don't think it does. Surely we're not that stupid, to cross our own timestream without reason.*_

Amelia joined him. Good. He didn't need to lose her now, not when there were aliens and the TARDIS clearly wanted him to keep an eye on her. _Why_ was a question for another time.

"Also crimes," he added awkwardly. "Let's have a look."

He made for the telly, but the old woman – the owner of the house? – intercepted him. "I was just about to phone, it's on every channel."

The Doctor took the remote, glaring at it.

"Hello, Amy dear," the old woman continued. "You a policewoman now?"

Amelia looked astoundingly discomforted as he banged the remote against his wrist. "Well, sometimes."

The old woman frowned. The Doctor hid a grin. "I thought you were a nurse."

Shifting her weight, Amelia avoided eye contact. "I can – be a nurse."

"Or actually a nun," the woman said pointedly.

Fiddling with the remote, the Doctor wondered _why_ Amelia kept wandering around in her outfits.

"I dabble," Amelia said airily with an awkward cough. The Doctor looked away and cleared his throat.

The woman apparently decided to give up on that avenue of conversation. "Amy – who's your friend?"

Thumping the remote one last time, just in case, the Doctor spun. "I'm the Doctor."

Amelia frowned at him. "No, you're not. You're John Smith."

"I'm what?" He gaped at her. "No. No, no, no. That's not – that's not my name. I just use it for forms and things. No, I'm the Doctor."

The woman returned her attention to him. "I know you, don't I? I've seen you somewhere before."

The Doctor's eyebrows shot up. "No. You haven't. I'm pretty sure you haven't, at least. I haven't been here before – or at least, I don't think I have." Ignoring the humans, he waved his screwdriver at the radio. The stupid thing worked, for once, flipping the radio through stations almost too fast for humans to hear. "Right. It's everywhere. In every language. They're broadcasting to the whole world." He sprang to the window, sticking his head out of it.

Up above, covered by perception filters that didn't work on him – because you're _special_, Donna would have said – was a fleet of spaceships from some sort of interplanetary police force. "Oh, I am so _thick_!" he yelled, pulling back, and grabbing onto Amelia's shoulder. "So, so, _thick_. I am thick thick _thick_, I should not be allowed outside, because _really_, I should have known this earlier."

_*Yes you are. Start, hmmm, start by letting her help you. A stranger – strategy that has worked.*_

_*Speak for yourself! Trying to throw them out of the TARDIS, yes, very good way to make an impression.*_

_*I was referring to _later_.*_

Amelia blinked at him. "What?"

"Residence," he told her. "If you're an alien, from outer space, and you've come to pick up your escaped prisoner, how would you know what a house is? Answer is, you wouldn't. So when they say residence, they don't mean your house. They don't even mean your – your – whatever this is," he said, waving in a way that was supposed to encompass the village.

"Leadworth," Amelia said.

"Right. They don't mean this either. They mean the whole _world_. They're going to blow up the world." He spun once in a circle. "A planet of this size, medium ish, lots of water, they're going to need a 40% fission blast. Except that'll take time to power up," he told the man who had just walked into the house. "So since the starships are medium size, that's twenty minutes. Unless they're advanced. Which they probably aren't, given that they lost their prisoner. Twenty minutes. Oh." He sighed, shoving his hands in his pockets. "I've got twenty minutes."

Amelia looked at him steadily. "Twenty minutes until _what_?"

In the back of his ears, the voices from the radio sounded like Daleks. He ignored them.

_*They're not Daleks. I should think that would be obvious.*_

_*We know that, thanks.*_

The young man stepped forward. "Are you John Smith?"

"He is, isn't he, Jeff?" the woman said excitedly. "He's John Smith!" Amelia wrinkled her nose. "The Raggedy John. All those cartoons you did when you were little – The Raggedy John, it's him!"

Amelia looked firmly at her shoes. "Shut up."

The Doctor was perfectly willing to get distracted if it meant explaining why Amelia suddenly knew him. "Cartoons?"

"Gran," the young man said. "It's him, isn't it? It's really him."

Flopping on the couch, the Doctor sighed, tuning them out. The blue eye was still on the TV. _Why_ did he know it? Why was it so, _so_ familiar?

_*Metebelis Three?*_

_*That was blue _crystals_, not blue eyes.*_

"Repeat. Prisoner Zero will vacate the human residence or the human residence will be incinerated."

Amelia bent towards him. "Twenty minutes 'till what?"

"I _told_ you," he said, trying to plot, if these were what it sounded like – but they weren't Daleks, they must be something else, a police force of some sort, something that would want to capture an escaped prisoner – something like Judoon or similar – and he had to save the Earth, just him, no humans tagging along behind, they would only get killed, but _twenty _minutes – "The residence is the Earth. Somewhere up there, someone's waiting to blow up the Earth." He stared blankly at the eye.

"Repeat. Prisoner Zero will vacate the human residence or the human residence will be incinerated. Repeat. Prisoner Zero will vacate the human residence or the human residence will be incinerated."

* * *

They – no, _he_ left the house, running down the street, and he just happened to be followed by the ginger Amelia, who seemed determined to stick to him. Well, so long as he had her, he may as well figure out what the _hell_ was going on, because a lot of this didn't make any sense. "What is this place?"

"Leadworth," Amelia told him, keeping up more or less easily.

He didn't spare her a glance because somewhere, _somewhere_ there had to be a police station, or UNIT, or even the _military_,just _someone_ to help him with a fleet of spaceships that were prepared to blow up the Earth. "Where's the rest of it?" Because even if he _was_ done with this saving people thing, which was looking less and less clear by the instant, _he was_ still on the Earth, and he would really like to get off it before it got blown up.

Even if he didn't deserve to.

_Just leave me._

"This is it," she said with a sigh.

He stumbled briefly, because _no_, this was _not_ alright, how was he supposed to save the earth without resources? "Is there an airport? A – a nuclear power station? Even a small one? What's the nearest city?"

_*If we're in the Midlands, Sizewell must be nearby.*_

_*You would know.*_

_*Nearby could be relative.*_

She laughed bitterly. He knew that laugh. That desperate, desperate laugh that said 'home sucks, and I would give anything to get away, but I'm _stuck_.' "No, no, nope, and Gloucester, which is half an hour by car."

"We don't have half an hour," he snapped. "Great. Twenty minutes to save the world, and I've got a bleeding _post_ office."

"It's shut," Amelia told him with a slight touch of humour.

Didn't matter, because he'd moved on, running for a small park area. "What is _that_?"

Amelia made a soft snorting noise that he was learning meant he had done something not human again. "It's a _duck_ pond."

No, that wasn't right – "Why aren't there any ducks?" he asked because it was the only question he _could_ ask in English, the rest of them rested on senses humans didn't have, the faint niggling ones that said something was distinctly _off_ about this pond.

"I don't know, there are never any ducks!"

And that was definitely _wrong_, the pond was empty, but it didn't seem very pond-_like_, and this was all _odd_. "Then how do you know it's a _duck_ pond?" Because the words he wanted to say, about how it was just like the eyes in some way he couldn't quite define, those words wouldn't come out, not in English, not in any way she could understand.

She gave him an exasperated look. "It just _is_. Is it important, the duck pond?"

"I really don't know," he told her and spun away.

_*Well done, admitting your weaknesses. We're making progress!*_

There was a loud whirring noise and the sky darkened. "What happened, why's it getting dark?" Amelia asked.

Too _soon_, _much_ too soon, he'd underestimated them, something was really horribly wrong, who _was_ Prisoner Zero to be getting this much attention? "A forcefield. They've sealed off your upper atmosphere and are preparing to boil the planet."

And in the meantime, Amelia was having a crisis. "This isn't – real, is it, this is some kind of wind up."

He really had to blink at that, because that made no sense at all. "Why would I wind you up?"

"You said you had a time machine," Amelia pointed out, and his brain stuttered to a halt.

He'd said he had a time machine. Which was true. Except –

He hadn't said that yet.


	4. Hour Past Ten, IV

**A/N: ehehehehehehehe**

**Thanks to Audrey and Paul. I don't remember what you did, but I'm sure it was helpful. Also to my reviewers: Ashlee Pond, LilyLunaPotter142, notwritten, FlyingLovegood123, Jimbobob5536, and Pointeofdance.**

* * *

He'd never told Amelia about the TARDIS, he hadn't had the chance. He'd never seen her before today and yet she seemed to know him, or at least to know a John Smith who looked very similar to him and also had a time machine.

Not likely.

And also the world had _nineteen minutes_ to live, so he'd really better get on with fixing things. "No, wait, there was a – a – a thing, wait."

The field was filled with people, people with camera phones, people taking pictures of the no-longer-sun, except for one, a nurse, who was taking a picture of – _oh_. The multiform. So who was the nurse?

"Go home," he said abruptly, spinning to face her. "Go home, be safe – safer than with me, leave me alone, this'll be dangerous."

Amelia was giving him a very odd look. "No."

He blinked. "Sorry?"

"No!" she yelled louder, grabbing him by the tie. Behind her, a car had pulled up; she stuck the tie between the door and the car as the driver got out, effectively trapping him.

_*I like her.*_

_*You would.*_

_*No really, she reminds me of Ace.*_

_*Except with less explosives.*_

_*Obviously.*_

He made one light jerk, noted that he could get out if he was willing to sacrifice the tie, noted that he could get out if he took a moment to undo the tie, noted that he could, if necessary, break open the car and save the tie, and returned his attention to Amelia. "Let. Me. Go."

She stepped closer to him, apparently not intimidated. "Who are you?"

"The Doctor," he snapped, staring darkly at her.

Amelia plainly didn't buy it. "No really. Who are you?"

Maybe he wouldn't have to resort to more explosive measures. "Look at the sky. _Eighteen minutes_, and your planet burns. If you want to avoid that, let me go _now_!"

"Well, better talk quickly then," she bit out.

The man whose car he was currently attached to stepped towards them. "Amy, I am going to need my car back."

Amelia turned an almost-frightening glare on him. "Yes. In a bit. Now go and have coffee."

"Yes," the man said slowly, looking afraid and a little bit perplexed, and then wandered off.

Leaving the Doctor with Amelia, which he wasn't sure was a good thing. "Who _are_ you?" Amelia demanded again.

The Doctor lowered his head, fiercely controlling his breathing. "I am the _Doctor_, but more importantly, right now I'm the only hope this _stinking_ little planet has for survival, so you might just want to let me go." The voices in the back of his head pointed out that he sounded more like the last body he'd had than the present one; he ignored them.

"No," she said stubbornly. "If you're the Doctor, then who was in my backyard twelve years ago, and why do you have the same box?"

He ran his free hand through his hair. "He's the future me," he told her blandly, something that he had figured out _ages_ ago. "Or I'm the past him. Either way, I haven't _done_ that yet. I _will_, and I will probably have good reasons, but not yet."

_*I'm looking forward to it.*_

_*It promises to be entertaining, at least.*_

_*Not that this isn't entertaining.*_

She still shook her head, and the Doctor took a moment to mentally curse all stubborn humans. "But why didn't you come back?"

"Because I_ forgot_," he roared, pushed beyond the limits of his admittedly shaky patience. "I forgot, or I had something else to do, or I just didn't _care._ I have better things to do than to visit one little human _child_, and if you haven't learned that yet, then learn this – I'm not a nice person. I _will_ hurt you, I _will_ betray you, and in the end, you _will _die."

_*Be nice!*_

To her credit, she took a step back, away from him – to her _stupidity_, she didn't move any further. "He said that," she whispered.

Breathing heavily, he looked at her, fingers working in his tie. "Who?"

"John Smith." She was pale, and shaky, and her voice sounded like she looked. Part of him hated himself for scaring her, the rest recognized it as the only way to save her life.

Twisting his wrist, he looped the tie over his head, handing the end to Amelia. "Stay here. Don't get into trouble. Don't die. Think you can do that?"

"Yeah," she said faintly. "No wait!"

He grinned at her, the sudden blinding one that he knew he only used when he was riding an adrenaline rush, and ran off. Leaping over a low fence thing, one of those ones that was just a chain connected to posts, he struggled to keep his balance on the wet grass. "You!"

The nurse turned to look at him.

The Doctor skidded to a halt and grabbed his camera phone. "Thanks." The picture was still on the screen, a man and a dog, perfect but – "Why that? Why take a photo of _them_?"

The nurse gave him a _very_ odd look, and then turned to Amelia, who – surprise surprise – had disobeyed him and had followed. "Amy."

"Hi," Amelia said. "Oh, ah – This is Rory. He's a – friend."

_Why_ Amelia felt the need to introduce her acquaintances to him was – oh no. No, no, no, she was _not_ coming with him. Not ever, not now, just _no._

"_Boy_friend," the-recently-named-Rory corrected.

Amelia gave a nervous laugh. "Kind of a boyfriend."

Whatever. "Why did you take that picture?" he asked, more insistently.

Rory, however, just stared at him blankly. "Oh – my god. It's him."

_What?_

_*Oh rrreally, even _you_ should be able to work that one out. Apparently we've been here beforrre.*_

_*Or after. And be nice, old chap. He's the showrunner. He can have moments of stupidity.*_

"Just answer his question," Amy said warningly, but Rory was not about to be disturbed from – well, from whatever he was on about.

"It's him though," Rory said louder. "John Smith. The Raggedy John." Rory shook his head. "He was a story, he was a game –

And speaking of him, the Doctor was all out of patience with stupid _humans_ and their _idiocy_. "Man and dog," he snapped, grabbing Rory's shirt. "Why. Tell me. Now."

"Sorry." The way he said it sounded like he apologized a lot. "Be-because he can't be there. He's in a hospital –"

And suddenly things made sense. "In a coma," the Doctor finished with Rory. "Right. Multiform. Needs a psychic link. Living but dormant mind."

_*Like this one!*_

_*Well, I wouldn't put it that way…*_

*You _wouldn't.*_

Behind them, the multiform barked. Still out of the human mouth. Honestly, couldn't it _learn?_

Smirking, the Doctor turned to face it. "Prisoner Zero."

From above, the atmosphere buzzed. The Doctor looked up, sighing. A long, grey, oblong spaceship descended through the shield, giving out occasional flashes of oddly greyish light.

_*Hands for who's met them?*_

_*…*_

_*Just the current one then. This should be entertaining.*_

The Doctor's smirk widened. "That ship up there is scanning for non-terrestrial technology. And I have a sonic screwdriver. Even if it doesn't work the best – _especially_ if it doesn't work the best, it'll get their attention." Raising it dramatically in the air, he pressed the button.

The screwdriver whirred and finally exploded a streetlight. Close enough. And then actually a few more. This was almost exciting. And then – he twisted one of the smaller buttons, the ones that only he could ever seem to find properly. That particular setting he'd invented while with UNIT – it could control vehicles.

The greyish beam from the spaceship narrowed and focused, homing in on them.

"I think someone's going to notice." One, _final_ twist, and the screwdriver caused a phone box – red, not blue, so it didn't _really_ matter – to explode rather spectacularly. It also had the charming effect of completely burning out the screwdriver.

He dropped it, muttering in Gallifreyan. It was nothing, just a screwdriver, and yet – Donna had touched it. Martha had helped bring it about. Rose had seen it. Memory after memory after memory and all of them connected with the metal rod now lying useless in the grass.

Straightening up, he backed away, teeth clenched. It was alright. He could do this. He was the Doctor. He didn't need any _accessories_.

Up above, the grey beam vanished, the ship beginning to ascend again.

"No, no, _no_!" he shouted at it. "I have your prisoner!"

The multiform chuckled at him and then dissolved, vanishing down a storm drain.

"Doctor! The drain," Amelia said for no apparent reason. "It just sort of melted and then went down the drain."

_*Humans. Always stating the obvious.*_

_*For once, I agree with you.*_

The Doctor shot her a glare. "Of course it did."

"Well, what do we do now?"

He spun to face her, glaring again. "_We_ do nothing. _You_ and your boyfriend can go off and – and kiss, and hope I save the day. _I_ am going to the hospital to try to intimidate it out. And, if I fail, I die. As does this world. So."

"So that thing, that hid in my house for twelve years," Amelia was saying, but his brain was distracted, there was something huge, something _obvious_ he was missing –

The eye.

The big, _blue_ eye.

What _was_ it with the eye?

_*You're becoming slightly obsessed with it.*_

_*It's this regeneration. The rest of us would never let such a small factor influence our thoughts.*_

_*To be fair, that hasn't always been a benefit.*_

The Doctor made a noise. "Multiforms can live for millennia." There was more information about multiforms, about how they weren't actually a species or anywhere near close. It would like using the word 'fish' to apply to anything in the water, it didn't really define what it _was_, not really. But that _eye_.

"So how come you show up on the very day that lot show up, the same _minute_?"

Amelia was really rather too curious and perceptive for his comfort. "The TARDIS wanted me here and now. I'm here because they were going to be here. That I preceded their arrival is a stroke of incredible luck." Or something. Luck is currently debatable.

"What's he on about?" Rory again. Rory the useless sort-of-boyfriend. Rory with the nose.

Rory who was clever enough to get pictures of the only thing that mattered.

Rory who might also have pictures of other things that mattered.

He could get to like Rory. "Phone. Rory. Give me your phone."

Rory gave him a blank, utterly confused look, but passed over the phone. "How can he be real? He was never real? It was just a game, we were _kids_. _You_ made me dress up as him."

Without really thinking about it, the Doctor discarded the glorious blackmail opportunity, and flicked through the phone's photo gallery. "These pictures, they're all of patients."

"Coma patients," Rory corrected.

"No, the multiform." Or whatever. He continued flicking. "Seven – no, _eight_ coma patients, eight disguises for Prisoner Zero." He needed, what did he need, what did he _need_, this was why he never saved two planets in a row, it got his brain all muddled, or that might have been the cricket bat, but either way, neither of those were his fault –

_Because I didn't save them the last time._

_Because I watched him die the last time._

_I've failed._

_I've lost._

_I brought the body home and then left because I couldn't risk staying longer._

_I'd run off again out of fear._

_*You tried! That's all we can ever do!*_

_*I don't recall you listening to that when Adric died.*_

_*Well, someone else want a go?*_

_*Trust me. This was not your fault. I remember Katarina. I could no more have prevented her death than you could your human's.*_

_*He remembers _his_ companion's name, but not the current one's.*_

_*Shut up, he's making progress.*_

"I need a laptop." He shoved the voices back, the ones that pointed out the facts he wasn't ready to confront. Because now he had a plan, or he sort of did, and if there was _anyone_ here he could trust – the humans, but no, he didn't want to encourage them, he was just going to leave the moment he'd stopped the Earth from being blown up, there was no point in even implying that they meant anything to him. "Your – Jeff." Without another word, he spun and ran off, back to the house.

Amelia and Rory stared at him before following.

He took a millisecond to settle. Coming to a dead stop, he faced Amelia. "You want to do something. You want to _help_. Get everyone else out of that hospital. If you really want to make things _better_, get everyone but those eight patients out of that hospital. Got that?"

Rory blinked at him. "But he's not real."

Scratch that, maybe he didn't like Rory. "Amelia, get those _humans _out!"

_*I'm not sure _I_ like Rory.*_

_*You like _everyone._*_

_*This one doesn't need an existential crisis right now. And Rory isn't helping.*_

Amelia gave him a briefly shocked look before nodding and dragging Rory off.

The Doctor burst into the same largish house, heading for the back because the back was where any young male still living with his mother would be. "Give me the laptop."

Jeff looked shocked, and tried to hold the laptop away from him.

Taking it anyway, the Doctor sat down on the end of the bed. And yup, conversant with the volume and quantity of Jeff's protests, the webpage open was a rather famous porn site. He hadn't really expected it to be a _gay_ porn site, but that was beside the point. Already working on a new webpage – he hadn't been to this URL in _ages_, and it was purposefully long and complicated – he experimentally tried a few phrases in Polari.

_*I remember inventing that.*_

_*Of course you did. Use it a lot?*_

_*Yes, actually. Oh, wait, I forgot – you didn't meet him, did you?*_

Jeff's shocked look became more confused. Never mind then.

The old woman – Jeff's grandmother, if he wasn't much mistaken – came into the room. Probably the noise. "What's going on?"

"Just need a –" Bingo, and he was into UNIT's secure servers, and then from there it was easy to get onto – "Webcam work?"

Jeff made a confused noise. "Yeah."

The Doctor nodded. "There's a video conference out there, because the sun's gone odd. And I've got information they need."

_Maybe Jack's in it._

_Maybe Martha is._

_*Maybe they can help settle him.*_

_*I doubt it.*_

He wasn't in the conference itself, not yet, just staring at the lines of code forming the conference, code in C# and JAVA and a few in heavily modified and updated COBOL. "NASA's here, Tokyo Space Centre, and – good." The line didn't _read_ UNIT but it didn't have to. He'd been UNIT's science advisor for years, he'd programmed these codes.

"You can't just hack in on a call like that," Jeff protested.

The Doctor grinned, because he'd gotten to the video conference itself and six faces were all staring at their cameras, probably wondering why he'd shown up. "Can't I?" he said coolly, before focusing all his attention on the computer screen. "You there, from UNIT – go get the Brigadier."

The officer – _very_ young – gaped at him. "Sir, I am UNIT's foremost astronomy expert, and –"

Rolling his eyes, the Doctor whipped out the psychic paper. "Here you go. Now go get the Brigadier!"

_*Hasn't he retired?*_

_*He came back.*_

_*Of course he did.*_

The officer vanished from the camera view as the other five scientists gave him stares of varying credulity and intelligence.

To the Doctor's eternal delight, the blank camera was very quickly filled by the Brigadier, a little older, a little greyer, but with the same fire in his eyes. "What do _you_ want?"

The Doctor smiled, a _real_ smile, for the first time in a _very_ long time. "Hello, Brig. It's me again."

_*Hello, Brigadier!*_

Something flashed in the Brigadier's eyes, but he quickly shut it down. "Prove it."

"I kept a spare key in the sole of my right shoe when I was short and black haired. The first time, not the second. That's why I wanted my shoes so badly, even though I couldn't remember it at the time. You figured that out within a few days, but not quickly enough to prevent them from trying to take my shoes away. I never thanked you for that. For any of it. So I'll say it now, Brigadier," the Doctor said, the smile turning wistful.

_*Hrumph. Just because I didn't _say_ it doesn't mean I didn't _think_ it.*_

"Don't," the Brigadier interrupted. "You've almost got me convinced, don't spoil it now. What's going on? Where are you?"

The Doctor grinned. "Escaped prisoner in the Midlands. Escaped _alien_ prisoner, we don't tend to care about the other sort." He pulled Rory's phone out of his pocket, accessing the root programming. It was a _very_ good thing he could type faster than a human, else this would never work. "The charming lot up above are his guards, come to bring him back. I've got fourteen minutes before they decide it's too much work and just blow up the Earth instead. I'm writing you a virus. _Don't_ shut it down. Let it run. And convince everyone else to let it work. Sorry about the mess afterwards –"

The Brigadier sighed. "Don't apologize either. Drives up my blood pressure."

He'd _missed_ the Brigadier. "Righto, then. Here you go." He hit the button on the phone to send the code to Jeff's laptop, hit the button on the laptop to leave the code on the internet, sending it to the six computers he was currently networked with, and also every website Jeff had ever accessed, every IP address he'd ever had contact with.

"Do I want to know what this does?" the Brigadier asked.

"Resets counters. All of them. All over the world. You'll have a right mess with the banks, but you'll still _have_ banks, so that's a plus." The Doctor stood up, passing the laptop back to Jeff. "Lovely chatting with you, Brigadier. Got to go save the world now."

The Brig made a strangled noise. "Doctor! Where are you?"

Grinning, the Doctor slammed shut the laptop. "There you go, Jeff, you'll have some interesting phone calls in twelve minutes, but otherwise you're good."

Now.

He had to get to the hospital. Twelve minutes and he had to get to the hospital. Well, emergency vehicles couldn't have changed _that_ much in twenty years.


	5. Hour Past Ten, V

**A/N: I am **_**so**_** sorry for the delay. I completely forgot to put this up this morning before I had to dash around all day.**

**The next chapter will be **_**Meanwhile in the TARDIS, part 1**_**.**

**Thanks to Audrey and Paul, who reminded me that no one's going to stand on a roof for two years. Thanks also to: Charamei, Mango Supreme, notwritten, FlyingLovegood123, and Jimbobob5536.**

* * *

98% of the way there and Rory's phone rang. The Doctor answered it, driving the fire engine with the other hand. It was still nothing near as complex as piloting the TARDIS. "Wha'?"

_*That's one of Rose's verbal tics.*_

He ignored the voice.

"The door's locked –"

He'd given them _seven minutes_, all he could spare, and they couldn't even get _in_to the hospital! Which was why he had the fire engine. "Get out of the way."

_Get out of the way._

_*He said that?*_

_*He did. You were sleeping during that confrontation.*_

_And now he's dead and you killed him and it's all your fault all your fault the human's dead too that's your fault if you'd just had the courtesy to _die_ when it was your time we wouldn't be in this mess but you had to make a sacrifice and it was him you chose and not you and your fault your fault your fault._

_Get out of the way._

"What?" Amelia said blankly.

He snarled, and switched the phone to the other ear. "I am going to be coming through the first floor window in about eighty-seven seconds. If you are at _all_ serious about being involved, you will want to be clear of that window."

_*Well, at least we're making progress.*_

There was a long pause from the other end, and then Rory said, barely audible, "I'm still wearing my _uniform_."

_*Good boy Rory.*_

_*I thought you didn't like him.*_

_*Changed my mind.*_

He hung up, focusing on not actually running anyone over. Also the fire engine didn't go as fast as he was expecting. Oh well. Making his way down the A449, he fiddled with buttons until the siren turned on.

43.13 seconds later, Rory's phone rang again.

"Hi, we're upstairs," Amelia said when he picked it up. "And so is Prisoner Zero."

His fingers clenched around the phone but he forced himself to keep his voice calm. No point in terrifying the humans, not when it wouldn't help anything.

_*You said we're making progress?*_

_*Yes, it's an improvement over when he was terrifying them just to make himself feel better. At least now he cares.*_

"Find someplace to hide," he snapped, staying on the line.

_Will you shut up?_

There was a mental reshuffling.

_*Why? We're trying to help.*_

_I need to save the Earth and you're being _distracting_._

_*Good. Glad you recognized it. We'll stay quiet then.*_

_*We will?*_

_*Yes. We will.*_

"Amelia?" he called, realizing he hadn't heard from her, just loud noises he hadn't been paying attention to you. "What's happening?"

"Not dead yet!"

He sighed. "That's optimistic. Where are you? Which window?"

"What?"

_Do _not_ say what I'm thinking, do _not_ say what I'm thinking…_

"Which _window_?"

A long pause. "We're in the coma ward. First floor, on the left, four from the end!"

_Bingo._

Through the line, he could hear an unfamiliar female voice.

"Oh dear, little Amelia Pond. I've watched you grow up. Twelve years, and you never even knew I was there. Little Amelia Pond. Waiting for her magic Doctor to return. But not this time, Amelia."

Well, screw _that_.

In a minor act of vandalism, the Doctor deliberately sent the fire engine through the first floor window, clambering out of the cab and up into the coma ward. "Hello. Amelia. Rory. Three minutes. We're doing well then."

_*We're?*_

_*Don't question him.*_

"And you." He turned toward Prisoner Zero, smirking the same smile that was the last thing entire races had ever seen.

The middle head of Prisoner Zero smirked in return. "Three minutes till what, _Time Lord_?"

_Oh, well, species hate. That's something different. Normally they just hate _me_. Should be fun then._

"Take the disguise off," the Doctor said coolly. "They'll find you in a heartbeat. Nobody dies."

_*There's something wrong about it.*_

_Yes, it's a multiform that looks like a mother and her two children, and you were supposed to be _silent_!_

_*And I would be, but there are senses you're not using, and there's something _wrong_ about it.*_

Prisoner Zero tilted its stolen head. "The Judoon will kill me this time. If I am to die, let there be _fire_."

The Doctor was officially all out of patience with things that wanted to die, things that wanted fire, and, particularly, things that wanted both. "Right. I don't care how you came here or what you want, but this is your one warning:_ Run_."

"I came here through a crack in the universe," it said, both heads moving eerily in unison.

"_Fine_," the Doctor spat. "Then do it again. Open one up and _leave_." And cracks, cracks were never good, particularly not cracks in the universe, he didn't think he'd run into those before, but one never knows, and cracks that someone can _travel_ through?

"I did not open the crack." Prisoner Zero rolled its neck, producing a sound disturbingly like the cracking of bone.

The Doctor's internal monologue had a lot of things to say about that answer, none of them pleasant. "Then who _did_?"

It smiled. "They're cracks in the skin of the universe. Don't you know where they came from?"

Something about this rubbed him the wrong way. "If I _did_, I wouldn't be asking you, would I?"

"The Doctor in the TARDIS doesn't know," Prisoner Zero said mockingly. "Doesn't know, doesn't know." Mercifully, for everyone in the room, it stopped quickly. "The universe is _cracked_. The Pandorica will open. Silence will fall."

The clock in the room clicked over.

0:00

"Look at that," the Doctor said, beginning to smirk again, furiously ignoring all of the unanswered questions. "All over the world, Prisoner _Zero_, every single item worked by a computer, all of them, now displaying _your_ name. And the Judoon may be stupid, but their masters aren't. They'll trace a simple, little computer virus back to its source. Right. Here." He held up Rory's phone.

The room was suddenly encased in greyish light.

He grinned. "Just. Like. That."

Prisoner Zero wasn't done yet. "The Judoon are limited. While I'm in this form, they'll still be unable to detect me. They've tracked a phone, not me."

"The phone is full of pictures of you," the Doctor said quietly. "Every form you've taken on this planet, and even the Judoon aren't _that_ stupid. And they're all being uploaded to the Judoon's servers right – now." He pressed the touch screen. The phone chirruped.

"Then I shall take a new form."

The Doctor strained not to snarl. "Stop that. You know it won't work. It takes months to form that kind of psychic link."

Prisoner Zero smirked. "I've had years." It began to glow, bright hot yellow light.

Amelia crumpled to the floor.

_No no no no no no!_

"Doctor," Rory said, touching his shoulder.

The Doctor looked up – and then stood up, stalking towards his mirror image. "Why me? You're linked with her."

"I'm not," Prisoner Zero said, in a soft Scottish accent. A young girl's voice. It shifted. A small girl, Amelia in miniature, stepped out from behind his copy. "Poor Amy Pond. Still such a child inside. Dreaming of the magic Doctor she knows will return to save her. What a disappointment you've been."

The Doctor stared, perplexed, at the streak of blood on his copy's cheek. He reached up to rub his own cheek. It was dry. "No, wait, she's dreaming about me – she can _hear me_." Dashing back over to Amelia, he crouched over her, hands on the contact points even though it would do no good, holding back everything except the message he wanted to tell even though it all bubbled and broiled behind his shields, what he had done, what he had allowed to happen –

"The room. Remember the room? The room in your house nobody could see until I pointed it out? Remember walking into the room, remember the floorboards shrieking, remember the dust and damp on the walls? Remember what you saw in that room. You swore when you saw it, remember that. The thing that made you swear, Amelia, _Amy_, just remember that."

Silent, Prisoner Zero reformed, shifting and altering into a long, skeletal, gelatinous snake with a truly _impressive_ set of teeth.

_*Last time we saw anything like that, I was in control.*_

_*As entertaining as it would be, I really doubt that's the Master.*_

_It's not him. Nobody died._

"Well done, Prisoner Zero," the Doctor said, smiling. "The perfect impersonation of yourself."

"Prisoner Zero is located. Prisoner Zero is restrained."

Even as the greyish light surrounded it, the snake jerked. "Silence will fall, Doctor. Ssilence." It vanished, unspectacularly.

Frowning, the Doctor crossed over to the window and looked out of it. The ships were retreating, preparing for their first hyperspace jump. He pulled Rory's phone back out.

"The sun," Rory stammered. "It's – back to normal?"

Dialling a number, he patted Rory on the head, returning to the centre of the room.

Behind him, Amelia gasped and sat up.

"He did it," Rory said, sounding like he was trying to explain things to Amelia. "The Doctor did it."

Silent, the Doctor continued dialling.

Rory coughed. "What are you doing?"

There! He had them. "Oi! I didn't say you could _go_," he yelled into the phone. "Article 57 of the Shadow Proclamation. This is a fully established Level 5 planet and you were going to burn it. Did you think no one was watching? You lot. Get a commander back here now."

On the other end of the line, a Judoon grunted acknowledgement.

He tossed the phone to Rory.

"Did he just bring them back? Did he just save the world from aliens and then bring them back again?"

_*Oh Rory.*_

Smiling very slightly, the Doctor ran out of the room. There had to be stairs _somewhere_.

Amelia, of course, followed him. "Where are you going?"

"The roof." He reached up to straighten his tie and encountered only shirt and skin. "Also I need a tie. Well, no I don't, but I would like one. Actually I think I'll get the TARDIS to give me one. They last longer."

He found the stairs and ran up them, almost falling out onto the roof. A small grey box was there as well – Judoon shuttle, when they deigned to use the things. "Come on, then! I'm waiting!"

"They were _leaving_," Rory said.

He grinned. "Leaving is good. Never coming back is better."

The grey box opened and a short, clear-skinned humanoid walked out, bracketed by two Judoon. "Prisoner Zero was a threat to the galaxy," she said, the TARDIS translating her words.

"Which does not justify _blowing up _a planet. You had other options," the Doctor snapped.

"You are not of this world."

He raised an eyebrow. "Only the most junior Tribune would think that means anything to _me_."

The humanoid raised its chin. "Is this world important?"

"How raw _are_ you? _Yes_, this world is important. It has _life_. Better yet, since this may mean something to you, it has _sentient_ life, sentient life that one day will develop time travel and become a player in the Shadow Proclamation. That is, if it isn't killed _first_."

The representative was silent.

The Doctor took a step forward, smirking. "Has this world, under the Shadow Proclamation, violated any laws?"

"No," she said, reluctantly.

His eyebrow remained firmly raised. "Is this world a _threat_?"

She took a step backward. "No."

"One more thing," he said quietly, sticking his hands in his pockets. "Is this world protected?"

A long moment of silence from the representative. "Our apologies, Doctor." She stuck her hand out politely – the Doctor nodded his head in response. Snapping her fingers at the Judoon, she turned and walked back inside her spaceship. The Judoon followed.

The shuttle whirred and rose into the atmosphere, leaving behind a small patch the Doctor couldn't look directly at. Probably malfunctioning perception filters. Nothing to worry about. It'd wear off shortly.

"Is that it then?" Rory asked. "Are they gone?"

The Doctor ignored him, the key in his pocket heating up.

_Finally_.

Grinning, he ran off, back out of the hospital. Time to go.

* * *

It would have interested the Doctor to know that the small patch was not caused by a malfunctioning perception filter. Rather, it was caused by a fully functional perception filter, several times more powerful than any a Time Lord could see through.

It would have interested the Doctor _greatly_ to know that at the same time that he successfully unlocked the TARDIS and stepped inside, a tall man with piercing blue eyes stepped out of the small patch and straightened his suit.

And it would have captured the Doctor's full attention, had he been there to see it, to find out that just as he was dematerializing the TARDIS in full view of Amelia Pond and Rory Williams, the man was calmly stepping into a duck pond without any ducks in it.

The water did not touch him as he sank.

* * *

The Doctor had been in flight for all of ten minutes before they started complaining again.

_*You need a companion.*_

_No, I really don't._

_*Mars happened because you didn't have a companion, and you're in a worse position now than you were then. Listen to _us_, you need a companion.*_

_I will _hurt _her_, he roared mentally, not interested in the chidings of his past regenerations. _That's what I do, hurt them._

_*And make their lives better,*_ Two pointed out.

_Jamie_, the Doctor said viciously.

_*I came to terms with that a long time ago. Have you accepted Donna?*_

He shifted uncomfortably, unable to run away from the voices in his mind. _Why are you doing this? I thought your job was to watch._

_*It is, showrunner. But we are allowed to critique as well,*_ One said, polite as always.

There were a thousand responses to that, all of them cruel. He refrained from that, sighing. _Is my improvement worth the destruction of her life?_

_*More lives are destroyed when we are alone,*_ Eight told him sagely. _*Your shoes don't fit.*_

There was a murmur of agreement – to both halves of the statement. _Fine_, the Doctor grumbled. _But it's _her_ choice. I'm not going to try to persuade her, or kidnap her, or put her in any danger at all unless she comes with me. It's all her choice._

_*Glad to see we've learned something since my time.*_ One, again.

_*It would be hard _not_ to,* _Six snarked.

Sighing again, he entered the coordinates to land the TARDIS. Better to destroy a life he'd already damaged than to attack a pristine one.

_*Not the way I'd have put it, but functional nevertheless.*_

_*_Your_ way would have involved your blasted obsession with rolling your r's.*_

The TARDIS landed neatly in Amelia's front garden. He unlocked the doors. Everything else was up to one Amelia Pond.

102.32 seconds later, the doors opened. "There are _so_ many things I want to say to you," Amelia began, and then stopped dead.

The Doctor turned away from the console and looked at her. She was staring wide-eyed at the TARDIS. He always liked that bit, when they saw the TARDIS for the first time. "Hello, Amelia. Would you like to come with me?"

"I did once," she said faintly. "Not sure now."

He clenched his teeth. "If you're not sure, you'd better not. Can get unsafe."

She looked around, pale. "You told me that this was a time machine."

"Yeah." Although _when_ he had said it was apparently open for debate.

"That would explain the two years then."

"The _what_?" The Doctor jerked towards her. "Two _years_? Two years since Prisoner Zero and the Judoon and clever things with computers? No, no, no, it's been twelve minutes. Well, twelve minutes forty five seconds, but you lot don't tend to care about that."

She nodded, silent.

He shut his mouth with a snap. "Oh. Didn't mean to, I swear. Sometimes have problems piloting this – well, not problems, the piloting goes just the way I plan it to, she just gets ideas of her own – _oh!_ Amelia Pond, meet the TARDIS. Time And Relative Dimension In Space."

Amelia made a faint strangled noise. "Hi."

"So." He took a deep breath and stepped towards her. "Do you want to come with me?"

She blinked. "I'm in my nightie."

Okay… "You – you're welcome to go change. Go pack a whole suitcase, can't be worse than –" He cut that sentence off but barrelled on with his train of thought. "Anyway, bring whatever you want, but keep in mind, it's a _time_ machine. I'll have you back home in five minutes, if you want."

"Anywhere?"

He smiled, very slightly. "So you'll come then?"

Amelia nodded, precisely once. "Yeah. Horrible idea. I'll come. Not leaving you to go pack though, god knows when you'll turn up again. Got a wardrobe in here?"

"Amelia Pond, I have _everything _in here!" He laughed, and spun in a circle. "So where first? Oh, I know, better idea, put the randomiser on again. We could go _anywhere_!"

She smiled for the first time since entering the TARDIS. In the back of his head, the Doctors applauded.

* * *

_Next time on Doctor Who – Episode 2: The Endlings_

"_Girl, why are you crying?"_

"'_m not crying."_

"_Oh."_

…

"_I would say that's the oddest thing I'd seen, but that's not even the oddest thing I've seen _today_… I'm talking with a ship. I'm talking with a ship because I've lost an alien. I'm talking with a ship because I've lost an alien who's also the only one who knows how to fly the ship."_

…

"_I'm not the Doctor."_

"_You are a resident of the TARDIS. The resident of the TARDIS is the Doctor. The Doctor lies. Therefore, you are the Doctor."_

"_I – what? That doesn't even make _sense_."_

…

"_Care to tell me what's going on?"_

"_Not really sure yet. I'll let you know when I find out."_

"_Charming."_


	6. Meanwhile in the TARDIS 1

**A/N: I'M SO SORRY. Last weekend was a bit nuts for me (family reunion) and I completely spaced on putting a chapter up. I can't promise that it won't happen again, but I will try very very hard.**

**Thanks to: Mango Supreme, Jimbobob5536, Nikki Pond, and Dragoneisha. As always, special thanks to Paul and Audrey.**

* * *

There were, Amy thought, a limited number of impossibilities she could be asked to believe before breakfast. Six was traditional, but the Doctor seemed to want to push it.

To start with, the Doctor was pretty impossible all on his own. Then there was the blue police box, then there was the aliens, then there was disappearing for two years and claiming it was ten minutes, then there was the inside of the police box, then there was 'travelling through time and space', then there was being asked to save the universe on a daily basis, or, to put it in his words, "not so much save the universe, be a bit much to ask you, but you know, help it along. I can't do it _all_ on my own. Well I can, but it gets dreadfully boring."

Somewhere along the line, she lost track of how many impossibilities she was being asked to accept.

"So you're the Doctor," she eventually said flatly, staring at the blue-coral-green walls.

He gave her a wild-eyed look from where he was standing over some vaguely hexagonal _lump_ in the centre of the impossibly large room.

She really ought to have stopped using impossible and any of its derivations. It got repetitive disturbingly fast.

"Yeah. I'm the Doctor."

Amy crossed her arms, fists clenched tight enough that her fingernails dug into her palms. "You said you were John Smith." She _hated_ how she turned into a seven year old anytime the topic came up. Hopefully that would change soon, since she seemed to be destined to spend an indeterminate – and indetermin_able_ – amount of time with him.

Even from this distance – however far it was – she could see him clench his teeth. "Yes. I did. For some reason, I will find it necessary to lie."

"The Doctor," Amy repeated. "Not much of a name. Who are you, _really_?"

He pressed his lips into something that she might have charitably called a smile. Not that she was feeling charitable, because as much as she wanted to get away from Leadworth, she was definitely _not_ fond of being confused. Which was a state the Doctor, whoever he was, seemed to be fond of inducing. "I'm really a traveller. I go when I want, where I want, with who I want. I'm unique, Amelia. You can't put me in one of your boxes."

"Aren't you already _in_ a box?" she snapped, annoyed at the old name.

She'd intended it to bite, but he smiled in a way that made her want to forgive him. "I am, aren't I? There's your box. I'm the Doctor, and I live in a box. A big _blue_ box that goes wherever I want it to."

Amy seized her chance, guessing that the Doctor would never give her the opportunity again. "Then why did you land in my garden fourteen years ago, why did you say five minutes, why did you come _back_ twelve years later, and _why_ did you vanish _again_ for two years?"

Shoulders slumping, he turned away from her. "I don't know to the first two, I came back because the Earth was about to be destroyed, and I don't know, I thought it had only been ten minutes."

"Wherever you want it to, my _ass_," Amy muttered.

He didn't respond, but his hunched over posture indicated _some_ degree of agreement.

"How do I _know_ it's a spaceship? For all I can tell, we're still sitting in my garden."

Not moving from the lump that had a variety of switches and levers stuck in it, the Doctor snapped his fingers. "Go have a look."

Behind her the doors swung open. She turned to look – and stopped dead. "That's – stars."

It was stars, lots and lots of stars, more stars than she'd ever seen in her life, bright and brilliant and solid and stable, pinned to the blackness like butterflies to velvet and with the same sort of iridescent wonder.

He came up behind her, almost touching. "Yeah," he said proudly. "It is."

Shaking her head, she turned, ignoring the gaping space now at her back. "Alright then, why does your grand _spaceship_ look like a wooden police box?" She hesitated, struck by a disturbing new idea. "_Is_ it a wooden police box?"

"No!" he yelled, sounding outraged. Returning to the lump, he shook his head. "Not at all. Chameleon Circuit, you see. Supposed to make the TARDIS blend in whenever we land. A column in ancient Rome, a potted shrub in 21st century New York, so on. But it got stuck when I landed in England, 1963. Never really had the time to fix it."

Amy blinked, and threw out the logical next question. "So where do the windows go?"

Maybe it was only the logical next question to her, because the Doctor was blinking at her and looking confused. "What?"

"The windows. When I walk around your box, it's got windows all along the outside. Where do they go?"

He rubbed his ear. "Well, it's an illusion, isn't it? Those aren't actually windows, just like the TARDIS isn't actually a police box. She just _looks_ like one."

Which made every bit as much sense as anything else he told her; that is to say, _none_. "So what do I see if I look inside them?"

"The inside of a police box," he said, giving her a look that normally meant she was being extremely stupid.

Amy pondered this for a moment. "Another illusion."

He nodded enthusiastically. "Precisely. Well, not _really_ an illusion, not as in a magic trick, more like one of those things where you stare at the boxes and the circles go 'round."

"Optical illusions," Amy said slowly. "Look, are you even _human_?" Because despite his appearance, there was very little else about him that said human. One of her jobs involved being able to read body language, and his was mostly in Latin.

He looked at her wild-eyed again. "No…" His voice trailed off hesitantly. "Will that be a problem?"

To be completely honest, she wasn't sure yet. "You're not – are you? You _look_ human."

The Doctor shook his head rapidly. "You look Time Lord."

"What?"

He gave her another wistful smile. She wasn't sure what she had done this time to deserve it. "My people. Time Lords. Or Gallifreyans. Though they weren't technically the same."

Amy yawned, frowning. He'd woken her up in the middle of the night, but it _finally_ felt like she was getting some answers, and she didn't want to give him another opportunity to wriggle out of it."Weren't?"

"They're gone," he said tightly. "I've got some fiddling to do, could be a while before we land. Your room's down the hall, second door on the left."

Amy swallowed, shaking her head. Damn him, why was he so observant? She didn't _want_ to go to sleep right now, she wanted _answers_. "No, wait, I have more questions."

He turned away, leaning over the console as if it was the only thing keeping him upright. "You don't want my answers. Go. Sleep. I won't leave without you."


	7. The Endlings, I

**A/N: I am so sorry I am a horrible updater I have no excuses I just completely forgot yesterday. Whoops.**

**Thanks to: Ashlee Pond, Pointeofdance, and Jimbobob5536. Also to Paul for edits.**

* * *

_*This is a stupid idea.*_

_*He's just doing what we used to do.*_

_*Yes, but we don't do that anymore, old chap. And we _never _wandered off after promising our companions we wouldn't. Besides which, he hasn't slept yet.*_

_*You did.*_

_She's not my _companion_!_

_*And why not? She's travelling with the TARDIS for the foreseeable future. Even with your admittedly _lax_ grrrrasp of English, you should be able to figure that out.*_

_*Lax grasp of English? I am, perhaps, not the current show runner, but I am _certainly_ in a position to question your ability to cast stones on other people's linguistic afflictions, given your _obsession_ with rolling your r's.*_

_*As long as I don't have an obsession with technicolour drrrream coats, I find that perfectly acceptable.*_

_*The question marks were hardly a fashionable accessory.*_

The Doctor ignored the bickering in the back of his head and continued wandering down the corridor.

The TARDIS had landed on Spaceship UK, somewhere into its third century out. The Doctor had done his typical amount of research – none – before wandering out into a busy central area, of a sort. Crowds, check, chattering, check, variety of people doing a variety of things, check, happy noises, _not_ check. The hallway/gathering area/common space/purpose currently unknown was grimy. Dust and soot caked the walls and floor, the ceiling being rusting steel that produced its own dirt. The room itself was wide, with a row of elevators on one side and entry/exit points on the other two. Most of the floor space was occupied by low, unoccupied benches. There were no vendors.

Also there was a young girl sitting on a bench and crying. Not that that was of interest to him. Not at all.

_*No, definitely not. Not the sort of thing we care about at all. Best to turn around and find something else to play with.*_

The normally disinterested presences in the back of his mind perked up. They'd been more active than normal since – since the return of Gallifrey, with its accompanying disasters, seeming to fear that he was about to topple over the edge into true insanity, rather than the half form he liked to assume. Since they hadn't the power to take control of his body, all they could do was talk, and these _were_ the Doctors – talking was something they did very well.

They were interested because he'd had an obsession – _*Not an obsession, an obsession is for things like stupid coats and question marks everywhere,*_ Four pointed out – an interest, then, in children for centuries, since –

_*Since the day I left Susan,* _One said quietly.

Right.

And that, in a nutshell, was why the Time Lords had left their previous regenerations wandering around inside their own heads, despite the obvious annoyance and how relatively easy it would be to remove them. A past body could confront the truths the current one might not be able to.

Letting the others fall back into their comfortable positions in his head, silent, the Doctor wound his way through the crowd towards the girl. He sat beside her, almost touching. "Girl, why are you crying?" He'd helped inspire _Peter Pan_, he had as much right as anyone to quote the thing, even if James had gotten half of it wrong.

She sniffled, wiping her nose on the back of her hand. "'m not crying."

"Oh." The Doctor smiled and, keeping his thoughts firmly in check, wiped his thumb along her cheek. It came away distinctly wet. "Did you spill tea on yourself then?"

Shoving his hand away, she almost smiled. Almost. "No, _silly_. You don't get tea until you're an adult."

The Doctor frowned, pulling away slightly. For a thousand thousand years, descendants of the British had/will have taken tea with every meal possible, and a few that hadn't been invented yet. Prohibiting it for children – well, that was a sign that something had gone very wrong. "Well that's hardly nice. Tea's a very important food. Drink. Keeps your synapses clear. Look, how about I get some tea, and then I share it with you?"

She shook her head. "Then the Smilers will get you. Tea's too valuable for children. Adults only."

"The Smilers?" the Doctor echoed. There was something very odd about this spaceship, starting with no one caring about a lonely crying girl.

The girl paled, shivering. "You don' know about the Smilers?"

He smiled, and moved closer to her, resting one hand on her shoulder, projecting calm. "I'm very stupid," he told her with his most patently honest face. "You'll have to explain to me."

That shocked a smile from her. "You are _not_. I betchu got the best grades in your class."

"I was at the bottom," he said truthfully, the sting from that biting sharper than it had any right to. "Well, as bottom as I could be and still pass."

She looked up at him with bright, astonished eyes. "An' your parents? They didn't yell at you, make you do better?"

Yes, but that didn't matter right now, because he finally had an opening he could work with. He straightened, turning to face her on the bench. "Yours do, do they?"

"Yeah," she muttered. "'s okay though. They only yell 'cause they're scared."

Switching his hand to her opposite shoulder, he pulled her in towards him, sheltering her. "Scared of what?" She hesitated, freezing. "It's okay, you can trust me." He smiled. "I'm the Doctor."

At that she perked up. "We tell stories about you!"

"Do you?" he asked quietly. Of course they did – he'd saved Britain often enough. "How odd. Do I run around and save the world with nothing but my wits and some luck?"

She nodded. "Yeah. And also humans help you. You can't do it _all_ on your own."

He smiled, sighing. "You're very right. So. What are your parents scared of?"

"The Smilers," she whispered. "They come and take the bad children away. An' then, when you're all grown up, they come an' test you, ta see which job you'd be best at. If you don' do well enough on their test, you get taken away. An' _then_, if you don' do well at your job, you get –"

"Taken away," the Doctor finished, frowning. "Away where?"

She shook her head, shivering again. After a moment's hesitation, she leaned into his side, pressing her head against his chest. "They took Timmy."

He inhaled sharply, blinking down at her. "Your brother, is he?"

"Yeah," she said shakily, beginning to cry again. "He didn' do his homework, an' he got a zero for the day, so he was suppose' to walk down but it was twenty decks and he didn' wan' to, so he must've taken the 'vater, else he'd've been here by now, but if you take the 'vater with a zero, you get taken away."

"Alright," he murmured. "I'm here now, and I'm going to do what I do best – save people. I just need to know one more thing – where do they go?"

She was sobbing now, silent choked gasps that left a wet splotch on the front of his pinstriped jacket. "Below."

He loosened his hold on the back of his mind, let the others have the room and resources to plan. Right now he was going to sit here, in the middle of a busy hallway, and quietly hold a grieving child, in a world where no one else would.


	8. The Endlings, II

**A/N: First off, I have to announce a hiatus. I have the rest of this episode written, and the first three chapters of the next. Unfortunately, I'm not going to get any more time to work on this until December (blame NaNoWriMo). In order not to leave you hanging, the hiatus will happen when this episode is complete, and not end until I have finished writing Episode 3. This will return to being my first priority when we hit December, I _swear_. Until then, please bear with me.**

**Thanks to Guest, Pointeofdance, Jade Nolan, and Charamei. Special thanks, as always, to Paul. Who I'm sure did something useful to this chapter.**

* * *

Amy woke up as she normally did – first floating in the half-real world of her last dream, fuzzy and content, and then suddenly, abruptly wide awake and aware that the TARDIS was disconcertingly quiet.

She slipped out of bed. Her room appeared normal enough, if she ignored that the door definitely swung inwards, and equally definitely didn't take up any space inside the room itself. One twin bed was set against the wall, made in guest-appropriate shades of amber and brown; one bookcase, opposite it, was stocked with bland pulp novels that, unfortunately for the room's façade of normality, came from one too many centuries to be humanly feasible; one bedside table, a shade too far from the bed to be of use in the middle of the night, had drawers empty except for a copy of the King James Bible that looked disturbingly like an original and an equally old-seeming copy of some religious text she had never heard of; and one wardrobe sat conspicuously in a corner.

This last was the only one she hadn't investigated before falling asleep, and it was the one she went to first after waking up. The room was painfully boringly _normal_ until she poked a little closer, and the wardrobe was likely to be no different.

Well, Amy thought in some confusion, staring at the now-open wardrobe doors, if 'no-different' meant 'just as odd as the rest of the room', then she had been spot on. It was, however, _nothing_ like a wardrobe.

There was the expected two to three feet of wood panelling on both sides, the top, and the bottom, but then – it just _continued_, the panelling giving way to something black and unseeable, as if she _couldn't _look at it, before that gave way as well to another impossibly large room, this one lined with clothes. It seemed to continue for some ways.

Amy looked down at her nightie, weighing the discomfort of wearing the thing for an indefinite amount of time against the bizarrity of going down the extraordinarily odd corridor. The corridor won for a number of reasons, not the least of which was that while the Doctor was male – or male-_ish_ – Amy was very female, and her body had taken this week to remind her of that.

With all of the other oddities on this ship, there ought to be some 21st century pads lying around, and a wardrobe _room_ seemed like a good enough place to start.

* * *

Half an hour later – she thought – Amy found her way into the original central room. The wardrobe thing had turned up several centuries worth of female clothing, and she had amused herself for a while with the thought of the Doctor in drag before working out that he had to have had _other_ women on here. The wardrobe had then proved to open onto a bathroom, which had come stocked with a variety of feminine supplies – and also Advil, gloriously. She took a few minutes to clean, finally getting dressed in a pair of jeans that somehow _fit_, along with a slender grey blouse. Leaving her still-wet hair around her shoulders, she stepped out of the room, intending to make her way from the bathroom through the wardrobe back to her bedroom before then working her way out to the central room, where the Doctor should be.

Instead the door out of the bathroom led straight to the central room.

Amy resolved not to think about it too much.

The central room was also _empty_. This was a problem. If the Doctor had wandered off _inside_ the TARDIS, she had little to no hope of finding him again, given that the ship gave no signs of running on Euclidian geometry. If the Doctor had wandered off _outside _the TARDIS, her chances were even less.

Lights began flashing as she stepped closer to the central lump. Amy made a mental note to get the Doctor to tell her the names for things, because 'central lump' sounded silly even to her. Control panel – that was a bit better.

The flashing lights formed arrows – and no, she wasn't going to think about that either – that directed her around the control panel to a small computer monitor. It read, "HE LEFT" in block capitols.

"Okay," Amy said slowly. "The ship is alive."

The screen flickered briefly. When it came back into focus, it read, "YES."

Amy sighed. "I would say that's the oddest thing I'd seen, but that's not even the oddest thing I've seen _today_. Do you know where he is?"

Again the flicker. "NO."

"Charming," she muttered. "I'm talking with a ship. I'm talking with a ship because I've lost an alien. I'm talking with a ship because I've lost an alien who's also the only one who knows how to fly the ship."

"THIS IS CORRECT."

Rubbing a hand over her face, Amy thought quickly. "Do you know where we are?"

Something made a loud bell tone. She turned to look. A different video screen was displaying several lines of text:

"LOCATION: STARSHIP UK

"SPACIAL LOCATION: HUMANIAN ERA. 139.20.3 FROM GALACTIC CORE

"LOCAL TIME: 4:33:29 PM, MARCH 23, 3258

"RELATIVE TIME:"

This last was followed by several circles that almost moved. Amy blinked at the screen. "A _starship_. I – I'm on a _starship_. In _space_. A hundred and thirty nine somethings from the galactic core."

And she had _no_ way to get home again until the Doctor decided to return. She wanted to cry. She wanted to swear. She settled for leaning on the control panel and digging her thumbnail into the opposite wrist.

Someone knocked loudly on the door. Amy jumped. "Well, now what?" she whispered at the ship, not entirely sure why.

The ship hummed loudly in the background and then abruptly fell silent. And _somehow_, that felt like a shrug.

Amy blinked, and went to answer the door.

"Doctor, you will come with us," said the man standing on the other side. He was wearing a long black robe, open at the front to reveal a pea green waistcoat, with the hood pulled over his head. He glowered at her darkly. Behind him, arranged in a semi-circle, were several – things, almost like people wearing clown heads, except the clown head merged smoothly into the body. They also were wearing black robes, but these ones were hoodless and covered their whole body.

Taking a step back, Amy swung the door halfway shut. "I'm not the Doctor."

The man glared down at her. "You are a resident of the TARDIS. The resident of the TARDIS is the Doctor. The Doctor lies. Therefore, you are the Doctor."

Amy gave him an incredulous stare. "I – what? That doesn't even make _sense_."

"My orders come from the highest authority," the man said flatly. "You will come with us."

The clown things moved as one, stepping closer to the ship.

Putting one hand on the door, Amy shook her head. "_No_." She slammed the door shut.

There was a brief pause, and then the man began knocking again. "Doctor, we need your help!"

Amy clenched one hand, feeling her fingernails bite into her palm, and slowly counted to ten. She didn't like pushy men, but if he needed the Doctor's help, and the Doctor wasn't there –

_And I'm going into psych because I want to _help_ people – didn't anticipate a fricking _starship_ but there you go, that's life for you – could be a trick – it's _probably_ a trick – but if it's not – he's not here – bastard – and what did he expect me to do? Just hang out while he has adventures? – hell no – so let's go save people._

Squaring her shoulders, Amy opened the door again. "I'll help," she said over the man's annoyed huff. "But let's get something straight. I'm not the Doctor. I'm Amy Pond."

* * *

Ten minutes later she was in a lift, surrounded by the creepy clown-men, with the hooded guy next to her. "Mrs Pond," he began.

Amy winced. "Miss," she corrected. "For another –" Oh. It might not be the day before her wedding. It probably wasn't even _close_. "I'm engaged," she said finally. "Not married yet."

"Miss Pond," the man said, looking exasperated by her delay. "This is a delicate issue and we would appreciate your silence on this matter."

She nodded slowly. Bureaucrats. Apparently hadn't changed in twelve hundred years. "Right, so what do you need me for? Or the Doctor?"

The man twisted his lips. "That must wait until we are in a more secure location."

Amy turned to look at him. "Look, I have no clue where we are, I don't know where we're going, I don't know what's going on, and I have no _bloody_ idea who you are. If you could answer _any_ of those, that'd be 'appreciated', thanks."

He sighed. "The records spoke of the Doctor's knowledge. They also said that he had the oddest gaps in his memory. We are on Starship UK, which was built to save the British people from the solar flares three hundred years ago. We are in contact with a smaller station orbiting the Earth, and will return when it is safe. I am Thomas Gladsworth, lead Investigator. This 'vater is bound for the offices of the Investigation Bureau."

Well, a "'vater" must be the lift, the Investigation Bureau sounded like nothing pleasant, and while solar flares didn't normally pose a threat to the entire world, she also didn't normally wake up over a thousand years in the future, so she could accept this too. "And who are these?" Amy waved a hand at the creepy clown-men.

For the first time, Thomas Gladsworth looked uncomfortable. "The people call them Smilers. Officially, they are the British Robotic Information, Training, and Intelligence Service Helpers."

Amy mouthed the words to herself, struggling not to roll her eyes when she got the acronym. Next to her, one of the Smilers shifted, its sleeve hitching up to reveal something that looked disturbingly like a warped gun fused on to the end of its arm. She swallowed hard. "Oh."

"These ones have been modified," Thomas continued. "They are based off the models for the military 'bots. Most ones above come from the designs for teacher 'bots. Among other differences, the ministry requested that these ones be more aggressive."

"Ministry," Amy echoed, choosing to ignore the implications of the last line. "So is Britain still a democracy? Or – something else?"

Thomas gave her a worried look. "In private, Miss Pond." The lift dinged and came to a shuddering halt. "This way, please."

She followed him out of the lift, frowning. Behind her came the Smilers, moving jerkily. "So where exactly are we?"

"Five hundred feet below Surrey. Almost a mile beneath the top of the air bubble. This level was jokingly named the Tower of London, until it stuck," he said with a slight smile. "I think it was originally MI5, but Tower of London took better."

Amy blinked, walking behind him down the hall. "Well." There was _nothing_ about that that sounded appealing. "Am I under arrest then?"

Thomas stopped and stared at her. "No. I was telling the truth. We do need your – we need the Doctor's help, but if you think you can take his place, we'll take that too."

Not entirely certain she could take the Doctor's place, Amy shrugged. And it certainly _sounded_ like arrest. "What do you think I can do?"

Continuing down the hallway, Thomas shook his head. "When we get there."

Amy was just about done with "when we get there" but followed him anyway. She certainly couldn't go _back_.

* * *

The room she was eventually led into was a conference room, one long table surrounded by chairs, a projector at one end. Thomas left the Smilers outside. At the opposite end of the table, a thin, hawk nosed man sat, wearing the same outfit as Thomas, but with his hood down. He stood as they entered.

"Gladsworth, is this the Doctor?"

Thomas came to a snappy parade rest. "No, sir, she is not. This is Miss Amelia Pond, one of the residents of the TARDIS. The Doctor is currently missing."

The man scanned her. It was not pleasant. "Gladsworth, guard the door. Miss Pond, if you would have a seat." Thomas nodded and left the room by the same way they'd entered.

Amy sat on the opposite side of the table from the man. "Who are you?"

"How rude, Miss Pond. Tea?" He snapped his fingers. The door directly behind him swung open and a Smiler entered, carrying a tea tray.

Clenching her teeth, Amy shook her head. "No. What's going on? And who are you?"

The man shrugged gracefully. "As you will." He took the tray from the Smiler's hands and set it on the table; snapping his fingers again, he watched Amy as the Smiler left the room. "I am Inspector General Hawthorne."

Amy mentally tried out a few variations of the name, and eventually decided to stick with Hawthorne. "Okay – but you still haven't told me why you need help."

"We need the Doctor, Miss Pond," Hawthorne said coolly, taking a sip of tea. "We don't need you. Gladsworth brought you here in the hopes that you could locate the Doctor for us. You yourself are unnecessary."

Her fingernails dug into her palm. The pain focused her, took her out of her head. "But you still need me. And if you tell me what's going on –"

Hawthorne raised his tea cup in a mock salute. "Very well, Miss Pond. We need the Doctor because the Queen is missing."

Amy blinked. That answered that question. "So – you just want me to wander around until I find the Doctor."

"No." Hawthorne smiled gently. "You're his companion. The Doctor will come to you."

The security alarms went off.

Hawthorne raised an eyebrow. "He may be a little bit faster than anticipated."

Already tense, Amy jumped, stumbling out of her chair. It wasn't that loud noises normally scared her, but there was something creepy about Hawthorne and his completely deadpan reaction to _everything_.

"Sit down, Miss Pond. We're hardly about to hurt you," Hawthorne snapped.

Refusing to sit, Amy backed up against the wall. The wailing of the siren made her head throb. "And what about him?"

Hawthorne was silent for a second. The room was bathed in red light, throwing the lines of his face into harsh angles. "Only if it becomes necessary. I am not a cruel man, Miss Pond, but I have people I _must _protect. The Doctor has a history of getting in the way of those."

"So you'll hurt him. The man who tries to save everyone –" They hadn't talked that much, but she'd gathered _that_ at least, he might as well have worn a sign saying 'hero complex' in gold letters, it'd have been more subtle – "And you think that _hurting_ him will protect your people." Amy was sometimes good at being brave for herself, but she was _very_ good at being brave for others.

For the first time Hawthorne stood, the light from the alarm making him look demonic. "The Doctor doesn't always come. And even when he does come, he comes in at the wrong moments, and he's missing half the story. Right now he has found the _wrong_ half of the story and he will kill us all if I can't stop him."

_He doesn't always come – didn't come for me – am I on the right side? – he saved the earth – would it have even been a problem if he hadn't shown up? – HE DIDN'T COME FOR ME – I'm not that important – if he didn't come for me – but he came back eventually – he must have been doing something else – and he made my life better, I _know_ he did – so he is good_

_Faulty logic but Hawthorne's creepy_

_Trust the Doctor_

"What if you're wrong?" Amy said, yanking her chin up.

The siren was almost drowned out by a sharp whirring noise. The door Amy had come in burst open, revealing the Doctor. "Ah – Oh. Amelia. And –" He stared at Hawthorne.

"Inspector General Hawthorne."

The Doctor blinked. "Got a first name to go with that?" He stepped into the room, standing between Amy and Hawthorne.

Hawthorne visibly clenched his teeth. "And what business is it of yours?"

"Didn't I introduce myself?" He stepped forward, longcoat swaying. "Sorry. I'm the Doctor. I heard you were looking for me," he said guilelessly.

Sighing, Hawthorne stood up. "Greetings, Doctor. We have heard a lot about you." He inclined his head towards Amy.

The Doctor straightened, turning back towards her. "Amelia? What did you tell him?"

Amy snarled. "_I_ didn't tell him _anything_. Meanwhile, _you've_ told him quite a bit about our relationship."

With a doubtful raised eyebrow, the Doctor returned his attention to Hawthorne. "Well then, _Inspector_ General, what did you want me for?"

"The Queen is missing, Doctor," Hawthorne said slowly.

The Doctor grinned. "And you want me to –"

"And we want you to do nothing." Hawthorne sat, gesturing to the kettle. "Tea?"


	9. The Endlings, III

**A/N: Sunday isn't bad, right? As far as updating goes: one more chapter, and then this baby is on hiatus until December. I'll be posting a new (Classic Who) fic the week of October 20****th**** – 26****th****, and then two 50****th**** Anniversary related fics as we get closer to November 23****rd****.**

**Thanks to Paul. Always. Also to: Pointeofdance and Jimbobob5536 for reviewing.**

**TRIGGER WARNING: mentions of self-harm.**

* * *

The Doctor jerked. "Yes please, five sugars, one lump." He stepped closer to the table, tapping on it with one hand. "Your monarch is missing – and you _don't_ want me to find her." The siren drowned out any sound from his drumming fingers.

Hawthorne nodded. "Correct, Doctor. I am content with the situation as it is."

Silent for a second, the Doctor leaned on the table, tugging on one ear. "You want to take over. A bloodless coup."

"And it will be," Hawthorne said, "so long as you don't interfere."

In a voice so utterly bland it _had_ to be false, the Doctor said, "Why would I want to interfere?"

Hawthorne returned the line with a blank face of his own. "I haven't a clue, Doctor. I do not pretend to understand how you work."

The Doctor abruptly spun towards Amy, frowning. "Amelia. Why are you here?"

Amy stared at him, wondering where to _start_. "Look, _you_ were the one who _ditched_ me. And it's Amy, not Amelia."

"Fine, but why did you leave the TARDIS?" He took a short, impatient step towards her.

Fingernails pressed into her palm, Amy took a similar step towards him. "Because you weren't there, you sod! You _promised_ me you'd be there when I woke up, and when I woke up? _Nothing_. Just your too-damned-smart-for-its-own-good ship. And then _this_ lot," she waved a hand, vaguely indicating the whole room, "show up at the doors and ask for _help_, and what the hell was I _supposed_ to do? Tell them that I didn't know where you were, I didn't know what you were doing, I didn't know when you were coming back? And did you ever think of what would've happened if you'd _died_? How the hell was I supposed to get home again?"

He blinked, staring at her. "Oh. I didn't – right. When this is done. 'Cause there's, there's something going on here, and I've got to fix it, the Queen's missing and someone's got to find her and it's a mess of a police state and children are terrified, and this is my _job_, this is what I do, but when that's done, I – I can – take you back. To Leadworth."

"No," Amy said, shaking and not entirely sure why, "no, no, no. You don't get off that easily. _We're_ going to fix this, and then _we're_ going to get back on that _bloody_ ship of yours and go save the universe, just like you were saying last night, because we're good people and that's what we _do_."

The Doctor's face went entirely blank and still. "Right. Hawthorne!" He spun, coat swinging out around him. "Since you're the one in charge –" He stopped comically. "Oh."

Amy blinked as well, frozen. While they were arguing, Hawthorne had left the room, leaving just the two of them and the tea set.

"Blazes," the Doctor said softly. "He's gone."

Amy shivered once, her eyes flickering between the two doors. "If he's as clever as he thinks he is, they'll be locked." Her eyes flickered around the room – air vents, one with a strangely shaped crack above it, so they wouldn't suffocate, but just the tea – how long could aliens go without eating? She maybe had four days, although God willing, they wouldn't be in here that long, maybe the Doctor had skeleton keys or something in his absurd coat –

The Doctor ran to the back door regardless, twisting the handle. "It's locked."

Drawing her fingernails down the inside of her arm, Amy sighed. "Of course it is. Any other _brilliant_ plans?" At least the walls were grey and not white. She wouldn't be able to cope with white walls.

"You sound like Donna," he said absently, pulling a slender grey rod from a pocket of his suit jacket.

Amy stared at her wrist, working a thumbnail into it, trying to focus. "What's with the stick?"

Waving the rod at the door, the Doctor frowned. "It's a sonic screwdriver, and it can open locked doors." The alarm, still blaring in the background, was almost overridden by a loud whirring noise coming from the rod.

"Didn't you have one in Leadworth?" Amy asked, faint memories coming back of a similarly shaped rod smoking and lying on the ground.

"Got a new one," he said brusquely, tapping the sonic screwdriver against his hand. Returning to holding it against the door, the Doctor grinned when the lock finally clicked open. "Got it. Come on."

Not entirely sure that this was the best idea, Amy crossed the room regardless, keeping an eye on the Doctor. "Who's Donna?"

Exiting the room, the Doctor paused in the hallway, looking tense. "My – a friend. Used to be. Doesn't matter. Can you run?"

"Yeah," Amy told him tersely. "Care to tell me what's going on?"

Grinning in the sort of mad slasher way he had, the Doctor began to run down the corridor. "Not really sure yet. I'll let you know when I find out."

Amy followed him at a light run. "Charming."

* * *

The corridors seemed to be universally the same. At each intersection, the Doctor stopped for a moment before picking a direction, apparently at random. Amy followed, mostly because by the third turn she was completely lost, and also out of rapidly fading hopes of keeping an eye on the Doctor long enough for him to get them out of there.

Her footie coach had gone on and on about how you learned more about people on the field than off of it. She'd been eight at the time, so its applicability then had been dubious, but now – now that the Doctor was under pressure, he lost all pretence at being scatter-brained. He still had moments of flailing like a cut puppet, but he spoke little, silent and focused and concentrated.

Until something distracted him, like unexpected propaganda posters, and then she could watch the moment he was thrown out of his headspace because he switched from being somehow terrifyingly _other_ to rambling on for ten minutes about printing presses before she managed to remind him that there _were_ guards, presumably, and also that they were very lost and he really ought to be focusing on getting them out of there.

Each corridor was made from concrete, with uncovered fluorescent lights at regular intervals in the ceiling. Occasionally there was a steel door. All of the doors were locked. The floor also continually sloped downward. Everything was the same. On and on and on and if she'd ever had _any_ idea how to get back to the TARDIS, it was long since gone.

They ran side by side, Amy _very_ glad that she went for a jog every morning. The Doctor didn't seem to tire at all, although he slowed down as Amy began to flag. She wasn't sure how long they'd been running, but the strain in her thighs said somewhere between twenty minutes and an hour.

Coming to a halt at a four-way junction, the Doctor spun in a circle, limbs flailing. He'd done that for the past few intersections; the darker part of Amy's mind thought he was acting goofier to try to endear himself to her. With a decisive nod, he moved towards the leftmost hallway, crossing in front of Amy. For just a second, their hands brushed.

The Doctor jerked away, lips drawn back in a grimace. Pressing himself against the opposite wall, he stared at Amy. "Don't touch me!"

"What?" Hands held out to her sides, Amy looked up at him and moved a very careful half step forward. "You were the one who touched me."

All of the blood had drained from his face. Shaking, the Doctor looked away from her. "Just – _don't_."

Amy took a deep breath, counting backwards from one thousand by sevens. When she reached 853, she took another half step forward. "I won't, don't worry. But why not?"

He was breathing rapidly and shuddering, turned away from her, with his shoulder pressed into the wall. "Touch telepathy. Time Lords are touch telepaths."

_Right. Alien._

She automatically jerked back and promptly regretted it when he flinched, turning farther into the wall. "So when you touch me –"

"I can see everything in your head," he said flatly. "Unless I try."

Steadying herself, Amy returned to her previous position, about two feet away from him. "And right now you're unable to try."

It wasn't intended to be condemning, but he took it as such, head lowering again. "Yeah."

"You saw – all of it?" Unconsciously, Amy grabbed her left wrist in her opposite hand, running her thumb up and down the faded lines. When she noticed she was doing it, she froze, thumb resting over a scar.

His eyes flickered blankly up to her. "No. I – that short of a touch, I had enough control to stay out. No, Amelia Pond," he said, shoving himself off the wall and standing upright, "I didn't want to share my memories with you."

Hands falling back to her sides, Amy looked at him sharply. "If you're trying to _protect_ me –"

He laughed suddenly, the sound bitter. "No. Well, yes, but trust me – there's nothing in here you want to see."

"Can I help?" she asked abruptly, remembering the lines on her wrists and the counsellors who had helped her with them.

He looked away again. "I don't know. Can you? Can you make it _stop_, the litany in my head, all the things I've done – _doing_ wrong, all of the dead – name after name after name in my head, on and on and on and they don't stop, they don't ever stop, it only gets longer and longer because I try to save them, I _do_, and then they only die and lie there on the floor, vomiting blood, bruises on his skin the instant I touch it, he hadn't a hope of living from the moment he pushed the button and I _did_." His voice cracked, but he barrelled on regardless. "I could have but I delayed and he died and I had to take him home and –" He broke off abruptly. "So no. You can't help."

Amy swayed back at the surge of hate. "Who was he?" she asked. There were some situations where talking about it didn't help, but from everything she'd heard, this wasn't one of them.

"I – I take companions." He was looking at her, face still gaunt and pale. "People who travel with me. You. The – the last one. He was the last one. Wilfred Mott."

She stepped forward, raising her hand. "Is touching you through your clothes alright?"

The Doctor straightened, almost – _almost_ smiling. "Yeah."

Amy pulled him into a hug, careful not to touch his face or neck. After a beat, his arms wrapped around her back, shivering at first and then steadying. She could tell the precise moment he relaxed. A few seconds after that, she pulled back, looking up. "Better?"

"A bit," he said, offhand. "We'd better keep going." He backed away, turning down the corridor. "Come along, Amelia."

Amy followed. "It's _Amy_."

He cast her a glance over his shoulder. "Come along, _Pond_," he said teasingly, smiling.

She shook her head, jogging to catch up. His meteoric emotional switches were a bad sign, but it did mean that they should be able to get through this one before she had to stage an intervention.

They made it barely two steps down the corridor before a hooded and cloaked figure stepped out of a doorway. "Identify yourselves." It pointed a gun unwaveringly at the Doctor.

The Doctor halted, raising his hands. "I'm the Doctor, and this is – Amelia Pond."

Amy imitated him, giving him a glare for the name.

The gun twitched as the figure made a shocked gasp. "The Doctor? Is it really _you_?"

"It seems to be my day for being recognized," the Doctor commented dryly. "And who are you?"

Visibly relaxing, the figure lowered the gun, raising its other hand to throw back the hood. "Queen Elizabeth the Tenth," she said. Her tightly curled black hair was pinned back, and she wore no makeup, neither of which stopped her from being stunning, dark brown skin contrasting with a dark red dress that was just visible under the black cloak.

The Doctor briefly counted on his fingers. "I thought Britain was a republic at this point in its history. _Well_, a bit of a dictatorial one, but that might have been just that space station. Oh! And there are Sontarans in England right now, although ah –" He pulled a battered pocket watch out of his jacket. Flipping it open, he stared at the face for a moment, before tucking it away again. "Well, actually not now, they won't show up for another thirteen thousand years. But when they _do_ show up, I'll be there to deal with them." He beamed at the Queen.

Amy was still a bit shaken. The _Queen_. The Queen of _England_. Technically, the Queen of Scotland too. Fine, a _future_ Queen of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, but _still_. Belatedly, she curtseyed.

The Queen was too focused on the Doctor to notice. "The stories said you babbled," she told him in an accent that automatically straightened Amy's back.

"Your Inquisitor General seems to think you're missing," the Doctor replied, looking utterly unfazed.

The Queen smirked, tucking her gun away. "He was intended to. Come." She turned and held the door open. "This way."

The Doctor moved first, headed for the door. "Someday I would like a full explanation."

"I think you know more than I do," Amy muttered, following.

"There is no time," the Queen said. "This door."

Raising an eyebrow at her, the Doctor went through the next doorway, quickly followed by Amy. The corridor almost immediately turned into a stairwell, headed steeply downwards.

"Doctor, General Hawthorne has overinflated ideas of his own import," the Queen said crisply from behind Amy. "Since the ship left, the government has looked to the Crown for leadership, with the military coming under the Crown's rule, _not_ the government's."

The Doctor snorted. "Which, to be perfectly honest, is technically the way it's been since Victoria. You've just been a little bit more explicit about it."

The Queen chuckled. "She left a lot of notes about _you_, Doctor. _Particularly_ the current you. Regardless, Hawthorne is interested in replacing the Crown with the military. Since I inherited when I was six, he was made regent for the first twelve years of my reign. Now that I am eighteen, he does not wish to give up his power."

"Charming," the Doctor said dryly, reaching the bottom of the stairs and flattening himself against the wall. "Door's locked."

"No wonder she didn't like you," Amy muttered, "if you're this helpful _all_ the time."

Ignoring them, the Queen unlocked the door. "We are about to enter the control decks. Doctor, your assistance would be valuable in gaining control of the central room."

Even in the half light, Amy could see the Doctor raise an eyebrow. "Why? You've heard the stories – I don't fight and I _don't_ kill."

"I have heard the stories," the Queen agreed. "I disagree with the latter parts of your statement. Regardless, you will help me if you wish this ship to return to the government of its ancestors, and not the dictatorship it has now devolved into."

The Doctor made a disgruntled noise. "I know what powers this ship," he said quietly. "Why should I _help_?"

The Queen raised her chin, meeting his eyes firmly. "Because I am better than the alternative. And because under my rule, I can save the children."

After a long tense moment, the Doctor relaxed slightly. "Very well. But if I don't like it –" He left the sentence hanging, the light from the sparse lamps throwing his face into shadow.

"I am aware of the dangers of bringing you in, Doctor," the Queen said dryly. "But I have no other choice."

The Doctor broke eye contact first, turning to face the doorway. "Fine. Which way?"

Eyeing him, the Queen swept out, leading the way.

Amy poked the Doctor. "What the hell was that about?"

"Nothing," he said quietly, walking off. "Absolutely _nothing_."

Straining to keep up, Amy poked him again through his jacket. "Yes, I know you found out _nothing_. But what were you trying to find out things _about_?"

The Doctor looked at her briefly, but kept quiet.


	10. The Endlings, IV

**A/N: This is your announcement of hiatus. The next chapter won't be posted until December _at least_. Quotes for _Dawn of the Daleks_ will be added as soon as I have them. (On the flip side, there'll be 3 multi-chapter fics between now and then, _so_...)**

**Thanks to: HelenaHermione and Jimbobob5536. And, as always, to Paul, who reminded me that alien brains really should be _alien_.**

* * *

Finally the Queen – Amy couldn't quite bring herself to think of her as Queen Elizabeth – unlocked yet another steel door and they entered a large concrete room. While the Queen and the Doctor crossed the room quickly, the Doctor already talking, Amy hung back and stared.

The room itself was huge, rivalling a concert hall in length and width, if not height. It had concrete walls and ceiling, but metal grating for a floor, and long florescent lights hung uneasily on chains from the ceiling. Banks of instruments were scattered across the floor like dominos. And beneath the grating –

Amy's mind stopped.

There was something there, something that hovered on the edge of being visible, or, perhaps more accurately, was _too_ visible, was there on one more dimension than her brain could handle, and so she couldn't see it, she just knew that it was _there_, a massive inexorable _presence_ living beneath her feet, something so strange, so alien that there were no words in English to describe it.

Amy blinked, and the moment passed.

What she _could_ see was pink, and moist, and vaguely brain-like, in the sort of sense that a computer was like an abacus. It pulsed faintly.

The whole thing was extremely odd and left a buzzing sensation in the back of her mind, almost like an impending headache, except not, because headaches didn't usually give warning.

In the centre of the room, there was a large hole cut in the grating. Above that was positioned a machine that once a second shot a bolt of electricity into the brain-like thing. The Doctor was standing at the edge, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Where's Timmy?" he said faintly.

The Queen straightened, frowning. "Who?"

The Doctor spun on her. "There are children who are sent below. What happens to them?"

Another person cleared his throat. "The beast won't eat the children. adThe Most of them, we re-educate and relocate to other areas of the ship. A few are kept for training." Hawthorne stepped out of the shadows, dark eyes fixed on the Queen. "Your Majesty. What a – _delightful_ surprise."

"Starwhales don't eat _meat_," the Doctor said, not moving. "They gain energy through the radiation found in empty space. They don't need solid food, except when they are in a growth spurt which, first off, only occurs once every several thousand years, and second, they then gain their nutrients by absorbing nebula and planets at their birth."

Hawthorne turned – almost reluctantly, Amy thought – to face the Doctor. "Then where do the adults go?"

The Doctor stepped forward, towards the hole in the grating. "You're torturing it."

"One alien versus a nation of people," Hawthorne said coolly. "Which decision would you have made?"

Amy rubbed the back of her head. No, it wasn't like a headache at all – more a tingling buzzing sensation steadily growing, spreading out to the sides – she could almost make out voices, except that wasn't _possible_, headaches didn't _talk_, and that's all this _was_, a headache brought on by stress and running down far too many corridors.

With a huff of annoyance, the Doctor walked away from the hole, towards one of the banks of instruments. "Not that one. Amelia. Have you noticed something odd about this?"

Amy blinked. "What?"

"Something odd. Have you noticed it?" he repeated impatiently, bending over what looked like a control screen.

Frowning, Amy crossed her arms. "There are a lot of odd things. Children getting sent below, a split government, a thing I can't _see_ beneath my feet – you refusing to use my name," she added pointedly.

The Doctor nodded, flipping a switch. "Good, but you're missing the important part. There aren't any other people in this room," he said, spinning to look at the Queen. "And you know why? Because you _can't_ stay in this room for more than a few minutes at a time, can you? You start hearing things. Amelia, how would a creature that travels through a vacuum communicate with others?"

"I'm _delighted_ to be used as the vehicle for your Socratic method," Amy said acidy, scowling at him.

The Doctor almost quirked a smile, the vast majority of his attention on the Queen. "Answer the question."

Amy huffed. "Ah – not through sound. Touch? Or – would telepathy work in a vacuum?"

"Precisely," the Doctor said smugly. "Starwhales are telepathic. And this one is extremely upset, Inspector General Hawthorne. You've had Inspectors driven insane by this room, haven't you? Men who go in and come out gibbering, or not at all. Some may even have died, here. And yet you cannot learn, can you? You cannot learn that maybe, just _maybe_ it might be a good idea to let the whale _go_."

Oh. Amy swallowed. The buzzing grew spicier.

Hawthorne made a disgusted noise. "This ship is built on the beast, Doctor. Releasing it would destroy the ship."

The Doctor snarled. "You utter _morons_. How _impossibly_ stupid must you have been? _Don't_ answer that. Now. You know why the starwhale is upset? Because that _machine_ is injecting it with ten _thousand_ amps of electricity every second, and it is in _unimaginable_ agony. And you know what, Hawthorne? This whale is _sentient_. It knows _precisely_ what you are doing to it."

"Again, Doctor, what other options do you have?" Hawthorne snapped.

The Queen stepped forward. "You could obey your queen and turn the responsibility over to _me_."

The Doctor turned to her, frowning. "With all due respect, your Majesty," he said, somehow not sarcastic, "I am not your subject, and I still hold UNIT rank. Treatment of aliens is not your responsibility, but mine."

Hawthorne snapped his fingers. "I think you will find that neither of you have any power, given that _I_ command the BRITISH."

A Smiler stepped into the room, gun-hand raised and pointed at the Doctor.

The Doctor raised both an eyebrow and his hands, facing the Smiler. "Ah. Planning to do something with that?"

"Your Majesty, you will surrender all authority to me effective immediately," Hawthorne said, clasping his hands behind his back. "Or I will have the Doctor shot."

Rubbing one ear, the Doctor shrugged. "Eh. You _could_ do that, I suppose. Not entirely sure where it would get you, but yeah, you could do it."

Hawthorne straightened. "Do not push me, Doctor. You die as any other man dies."

The Doctor visibly looked surprised. "So he _did_ delete those. Well done, old chap," he muttered, quietly enough that Amy had to strain to understand him. "But Inspector," he said louder, humour evident in every line of his body, "you _really_ should have used something else. Because the problem with robots is –"

In a motion far faster than any human could accomplish, the Doctor pulled the sonic screwdriver out of his jacket and pointed it at the Smiler. "Robots are electronic." The end of the screwdriver glowed blue and a loud whirring noise threatened to overwhelm the sticky sound in the back of Amy's head.

The noise from the screwdriver was quickly joined by a rattling from the Smiler. Within a few seconds, it had collapsed on the floor with a loud clank.

"There we are then," the Doctor said smugly, returning his screwdriver to his coat.

Watching the back and forth, Amy bit her lip in thought. The starwhale returned the children, but not the adults. Queen Elizabeth X was cut off from her people by Inspector General Hawthorne, who had to be one of the most power-mad individuals she had ever had the misfortune to meet. The Doctor was telepathic. Solar flares had forced humanity off of the Earth.

"So, your Majesty and Inspector General Hawthorne, I have three choices. I can leave things alone. Let a creature you cannot _begin_ to understand continue on in pain for thousands of years. Personally," he continued, voice light, "I'm not fond of leaving things alone. So option two – I can release the starwhale, let it go. And condemn every single person on this ship to death. Third, I – I can kill the starwhale. Destroy its mind, but leave its body functioning."

He paused, looking down at the floor, face closed off. "And then I'll change my name. Find something – not the Doctor."

Sighing, he returned to the bank of instruments, and began pressing buttons. "And I choose option three. Charming, isn't it, to see how easily you can break me. You should be taking notes, Inspector General. Could be useful someday." His voice was bland and flat, almost painfully so.

Both Hawthorne and the Queen were silent. The zapping bolts paused as the machine began to rev.

The Doctor was telepathic.

The starwhale was telepathic.

Amy ran forward, towards the Doctor. "Stop!"

His hands paused on the controls, and he turned toward her slightly. "Amelia, there is no solution to this that –"

She grabbed his wrist, just below the cuff. Dragging him forward, she fell to her knees next to the hole. In the same movement, she yanked his hand down and pressed it to the pulsing brain.

The Doctor tensed. Slightly panicked but certain that her idea would work, Amy released his wrist and backed away slowly. After one terrifying second where he didn't move at all, the Doctor slumped forward, hand still pressed to the brain. Muscles standing out in his neck, the Doctor's back arched, and he screamed.

Amy jerked forward again. She'd ruined it, she'd hurt him, it wasn't going to work out, the whale was more powerful and angrier than she'd thought –

"No, no, no, stay back!" the Doctor yelled hoarsely, every muscle tense. "I – I've got it."

For a second the room was quiet, silence broken only by the Doctor's harsh panting. Finally he relaxed, hand still on the brain, but back bent more gently and neck limp. "There. There," he repeated, more quietly.

Amy stepped towards him, bending down. "What happened?"

"Come here." The Doctor waved her down. "Put your hand right next to mine."

She hesitated momentarily, before deciding to obey. The brain was – odd, almost but not quite there, soft and wet and squishy and also somehow intangible. She frowned, first at it, and then at the Doctor, confused, and then –

_huge space empty warm home home home others lonely pain friends help journey alone friends touch touch touch touch other not us different same touch similar small fragile not Time Lord not us similar but different touch_

_hello_

She scrambled backwards, shocked. "In – It was in – Doctor?"

He smiled beatifically. "Telepaths, I told you. Yes. It's in your head. You're in its head as well, if that makes you feel any better."

Taking a deep breath, Amy returned her hand to the brain.

It was like opening her eyes for the first time in her life and seeing, not just a room, but the entire planet, all at once. Information rushed into her mind, and sensation, and thoughts, and –

_sorry scared tried help sorry sorry friend question_

The pressure receded slightly, giving her more – space? – to think.

Amy frowned. "Ah – yes. I think. I can be a friend?"

_laugh this friendly you small you unfriendly no harm this little ones bright pain no great pain little ones little understand question_

The Doctor chuckled. "Humans never had a chance of harming it. It's aware of the shocks but they don't matter – like static electricity, or a paper cut. Humans are so _small_ –" He smiled, shaking his head. His expression resembled nothing so much as someone under a religious experience, such as those Amy had seen in paintings.

_Time Lord truth little ones little Time Lord large inside could hurt this won't kind hero alone question other Time Lords alone like this question_

Freezing, the Doctor nodded. He was then silent for a long moment.

_speak your little one unknown help_

"Yes. I'm alone. They're all dead," the Doctor said jerkily. "There was a war. You – it wasn't quiet. You had to have known."

_aware this kin gone War wanted Time Lord view_

The Doctor visibly swallowed. "The rest of the starwhales were killed in the war?"

_agree_

He breathed in, visibly shuddering next to Amy. "There was – a war. A Time War. My people versus the Daleks. They died. I escaped. Some – it spread, and we couldn't always control it. I'm sorry."

_aware this sorry Time Lord_

"It was my fault," the Doctor whispered.

Amy pulled away. She'd never heard _anyone_ sound that broken, that damaged, and she didn't want to get in between the Doctor and some catharsis he obviously needed.

_liar_

The Queen jumped and Hawthorne swore in shock. Amy's eyes widened.

_laugh this old touch aid not needed_

_Time Lord liar Time Lord not fault killers fault Time Lord end_

"I killed them," the Doctor said, voice cracking. "It _was_ my fault. I ended it but I did so through xenocide, I killed _billions_."

_War kill countless War kill countless many times Time Lord kill many once Time Lord kill needed_

The Doctor pulled his hand away, standing jerkily. "Could you stop broadcasting? Some things –" His voice stuttered to a halt and he stared blankly at the brain.

_your little one confused your little one intelligent your little one help_

"She can't, she can't even come _close_, it's nothing that her mind can understand –"

_tell little one tell little one War death disaster tell little one Time Lords TELL LITTLE ONE_

Amy shuddered at the bellow in her mind. Hawthorne whimpered.

The Doctor frowned down at the starwhale. "I don't take orders," he said flatly.

_not order suggestion help healing_

"Later. Can you handle this?" the Doctor asked abruptly.

_now use Time Lord mind later no Time Lord silent helper question_

Amy nodded. "Makes sense. If it has someone to communicate for it – maybe this won't happen again." She gestured at the banks of instruments.

The Doctor's eyes flickered to hers before he turned, standing between the others and the hole in the grating. "Your Majesty. Come here. Please."

Amy stepped back, letting the Queen stand next to the hole. "Good choice," Amy murmured to the Doctor.

He smiled, briefly. "Your Majesty, I would like to put you in charge of communication with the starwhale."

Hawthorne made a strangled noise.

Amy crossed to stand in front of him. "If I were you, I'd keep quiet. The Doctor's none too pleased right now."

"I have men –!" Hawthorne began.

She levelled him a glare. "You've got two aliens pissed at you right now, and one of them's your bloody ship, so I'd really suggest that you stay out of this one."

"Thank you, Miss Pond," a voice said coolly from behind her. "I believe I can take it from here."

Amy spun, stumbling through a curtsey. "Your Majesty."

The Queen nodded her acknowledgement, her attention focused on Hawthorne. "Inspector General. You will be pleased to know that the adults fed to the starwhale were actually being teleported to nearby habitable planets."

Still belligerent – the idiot – Hawthorne drew himself up. "_Why_ would I be pleased to know that?"

"Come along, Pond," the Doctor said quietly in Amy's ear, making her jump. "They can sort this one out on their own."

Amy turned to him, eyebrows raised. "What if he –"

The Doctor smiled. "With a starwhale on her side? I think she's got it sorted. Time for us to go." He stood there for a moment, and then held his hand out to her.

She stared at it, ignoring the argument behind her. "You said –"

"I say a lot of things," he said blandly. "Sometimes I need to say less."

Amy shook her head slowly. "But won't it –"

His smile slid away, replaced by a face that was at once completely closed off and heartbreakingly vulnerable. "I've dealt with that. The starwhale helped. That was –" He broke off and had to start again. "That was what the yelling was about. It thought I was another starwhale, and they – share their pain, spread it out. And I – hadn't touched another's mind in – a while."

"If you're sure," Amy said. "But don't leave me behind again." She reached out and took his hand. It was strong, and cool, and dry.

The Doctor grinned brightly. "Amelia Pond – _Amy_. Not until you want to be."


End file.
